Stagecoach Capture

STAGECOACH CAPTURE …Slade thumbed back his hat and ran a hand over his jaw. “This town got a good bathhouse?” Pete gave him a broad wink. “Gonna get gussied up and visit The Lucky Strike?” Slade eyed a saloon two buildings along the boardwalk with tinny piano noise and raucous laughter coming from its doorway. He shook his head. “Just want to soak my aching muscles.” “Soak?” Jessimay turned from where she had bent over the pile of bags, her eyes filled with longing. “As in a hot bath? I would pay a pretty penny for a long bath with lots of steamy water”—she sighed— “and maybe some rose petals floating on the top.” In his mind, Slade pictured the scene. He saw her slender form approach the steaming bathtub. She shrugged her shoulders and a silky garment dropped to her feet, exposing creamy, smooth skin. Skin that his hands itched to touch. He wasn’t halfway done looking his fill, but her luscious body slowly disappeared under the bubbly water. The images he’d conjured heated his blood. His stomach clenched and his hands drew into fists. He hadn’t thought about needing a woman in weeks. Trailing the bank robber had occupied all his thoughts. What was it about this particular woman that unsettled him? Action. He needed physical activity. Plus he needed to put distance between himself and the woman who stood three feet away. He dipped his chin in her direction, but didn’t trust himself to look her in the eye. “Miss Morgan.” With that, he started off, cursing himself as the biggest fool this side of the Mississippi…

STAGECOACH CAPTURE BY LAYLA CHASE

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

STAGECOACH CAPTURE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Layla Chase ISBN 1-59279-567-6 Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

My heartfelt thanks go to DD, who started me on this path, and the Mt. Helicon Muses for their support and encouragement throughout the writing of this story.

STAGECOACH CAPTURE

CHAPTER 1

1868 South Texas “Whooey, Miss Jazzy. That was a g-good’un.” Jazzy Morgan blew out a sigh and rolled off her most frequent customer. That was her last paying trick. She perched on the edge of the sagging mattress and straightened the neckline of her chemise before turning to the wiry ranch hand. “Henry, you say that every week.” “Don’t know why you m-moved on t-top, but that sure b-brought m-my pecker b-back to life.” He ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair. “Just wanted something different. Don’t you ever want that sometimes?” With a still-gasping Henry Johansen as her unknowing witness, she’d vowed to never again engage in sex not of her own 1

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choosing. “If something works fine, why ch-change it? Not p-proper, you know, with the woman on t-top.” “And I say, why not? The new way may be lots better.” “M-maybe.” Henry yawned and braced his head with his entwined hands. “Spending t-time in your room is the high p-point of m-my wweek.” One glance around her sparsely furnished room convinced Jazzy the poor man’s life didn’t include much excitement. Her chest tightened and burned. She would not spend a single moment regretting her decision to leave. “That’s real nice, but if I wasn’t here, you’d just pick one of the other girls.” His narrow gaze sharpened. “You w-winding up to say ggoodbye?” Alarm shot through her. She couldn’t have him spreading stories that might get back to Tucker, the man who swore he was set on marrying her and taking her away from this life. Not if she had her say. She forced a laugh and patted his cheek, her mind racing for another topic to distract him. “Can’t a girl say a few nice words to her favorite visitor?” A knock sounded on the door. “Two minutes until locking up time, Jazzy.” She pressed her lips together to hold back the sigh that threatened to escape. “Thanks, Ben.” Henry pushed himself to a sitting position, reached for his trousers hanging on the foot post and stood, facing away from her. “Does th-that man ever forget which g-gal has a v-visitor?” She shook her head. “Never that I can recall. Ben knows how serious Miss Veronica is about getting her percentage.” She straightened her clothes, brushed her hair over her shoulders and walked toward the door. On impulse, she spoke with hurried words. 2

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“Henry, after church services, walk right up to Miss Simms and offer to escort her home. Don’t wait any longer for the rest of your life to happen.” His fingers on the brass doorknob tightened until his knuckles blanched white. “I’ll th-think on it, M-miss Jazzy.” “No more thinking, Henry.” She stretched up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Time for action.” With a shake of his head and a muttered goodbye, Henry walked into the hallway. Jazzy sagged against the closed door, relief flooding her senses. Her years as a fancy lady were over. Now she’d discover what else life had to offer. She marched across the room, grabbed her small Bowie knife from the nightstand and pried up the loose floorboard. Underneath was the cloth bundle holding her life savings. Her hand shook and excitement bubbled inside her. She wasn’t waiting another hour before starting her new life. *

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Damn wind! US Marshal Slade Thomas strode after his hat as it rolled down the dusty San Antonio street. It teetered and landed flat, and he scooped it up. Blazes, he was tired. He pivoted and headed back toward the westbound stagecoach, brushing off the dirt as he walked. Ten days on the trail of a bank robber and always two steps behind. But he had a mission to carry out. “Is this your bag, mister?” A wiry man with piercing blue eyes stood on the sidewalk and pointed at the lone leather satchel. “It is.” Slade quickened his steps and bent to grab the handles. He didn’t need the driver discovering what sat at the bottom of his scuffed case. “I’ll load it.” He lifted a shoulder and shook his head. “Fine by me. Soon as it’s stowed, we can leave.” Slade pressed the satchel into a corner of the rack on the roof, then 3

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opened the door and scanned the dim interior—an elderly gentleman, a young boy, and three women of varying ages. Being the last one to board left him with a middle seat. He removed his hat, hunched his shoulders and stepped up into the crowded stage. As he maneuvered backwards into the space, he kicked the gentleman’s cane and jostled against the knee of a woman dressed in red. “Beg your pardon, folks.” He wedged himself onto the bench, tucked his boots close to the seat, and balanced his hat on his knee. Stagecoaches were not built for men with long legs. He glanced up and saw his actions were the focus of the other passengers’ attention. With a start, he realized both women on the opposite bench were of average size, had no distinguishable facial marks, blue eyes and light brown hair. Just like the wanted poster. A voice called to the horses and the stagecoach jerked into motion. People on the sides grabbed at the walls of the stage to steady themselves. Great, he’d been lucky enough to get the lumpiest seat he’d ever sat on. A tug against his right thigh drew his attention. He turned and something tickled his cheek. The feather on the top of the woman’s black hat bobbed into his sight. She sat beside him, using both hands to pull on her skirts. “Excuse me, sir. My skirt is surely trapped.” She pressed a hand against his thigh. “Can you move your as—can you assist me?” He froze. Surely, he’d heard her wrong. As his mind scrambled to make sense of her words, his leg heated through his trousers under her touch. He’d definitely been without female company for too long. With one hand flattened against the doorframe over the head of the passenger on his other side, he easily lifted his hips, until she’d gathered her skirts off the cracked leather seat. 4

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“Thank you kindly, sir.” He eased down to the bench and turned to his right. Out of habit, Slade reached toward his forehead to touch the brim of his hat. The woman dressed in red gazed up at him with a smile across her shapely lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, he scanned her face. “You’re—” Light brown hair, no distinguishing marks. Exasperation stole his words. Average size and blue eyes—blue as a summer sky. Damn, not a third one. And why did her assessing gaze have to be in the prettiest face he’d seen in months? Her gaze frosted and she turned to the side, a rounded hip pressing into his upper thigh. With three suspects, this would not be the easy end to a tough case. His work of identifying which suspect to arrest and haul back to Oklahoma City had just increased. By positioning himself close to the ticket window, Slade had managed to catch most of the passengers’ names. A quick movement and flash of color caught his eye. The woman next to him lifted the shade and peered outside, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Have pity on us and pull that shade tight, Miss Morgan.” “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Harrington.” Her widened gaze focused on the older woman who’d spoken. Slade wished he had a straight-on view of the woman beside him. He had to be content with side glances and the feel of her petticoated skirts pressed the length of his leg. Miss Morgan released the shade, letting it bounce against the side of the door. “Don’t y’all wonder about the country you’re travelin’ through? Lordy, I was hoping for a bitty breeze.” Slade detected a Texas sprawl in her speech. She savored her words before letting them escape between her lips—her full, lush lips. Damn, 5

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what was he thinking? He had a suspect to apprehend. “None of us want to breathe all that dust.” Mrs. Harrington scanned the cramped space, looking for confirmation from the other passengers. Slade heard the mousy woman agree in a quiet voice, and the elderly gentleman, Grove Denton, emphasized his assent by rapping his cane on the floor of the coach. Miss Morgan leaned back against the cushion and let out a groan. “The air is stiflin’ and I just can’t breathe. If you won’t let me open the shade, I’ll just get cool another way.” Her pale hand rose to the buttons at her neck. In fascination, Slade watched, using only short glances, as she undid her collar and then the first two buttons on her blouse, exposing a regal neck and creamy skin. Awareness of this woman hit him in the gut and his body reacted. Damnation! He shifted on the seat to ease his hardened cock inside his trousers and accidentally bumped Miss Morgan’s knee. She shot him a questioning look from under her lashes and slowly pressed her leg the length of his. From her reticule, she pulled out and flourished a fan painted with red roses. The fan moved quickly in front of her face and she sighed. “That’s better.” Slade detected a look of envy from the quiet woman across from him. On this point, he agreed with the outspoken Miss Morgan. The coach was unbearably hot, enough so that he planned to remove his waistcoat at the next stop. Keeping up the rancher image be damned. Mrs. Harrington sniffed. “Proper young ladies don’t use fans in public. That’s vulgar.” Miss Morgan pinched the front of her blouse between two fingers and pulled it several inches away from her chest. Without realizing that he’d even moved, Slade eased his head sideways and got a glimpse of her cleavage. Pillow-soft-looking mounds. Abundant curves. He froze, suddenly aware of how 6

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disrespectful his action must appear. What the hell was he doing? After flashing the complainer a syrupy smile, Miss Morgan aimed the fan directly over the blouse opening and flicked her hand back and forth. “There’s times when one’s comfort comes afore all else.” She sighed and lolled her head to look directly at him. “Don’t you agree?” Captured by her knowing gaze, Slade stiffened and fought for a casual answer. He opened his mouth to respond and felt the distinct glide of a boot tip run along the back of his calf. His mouth snapped closed and he swallowed hard. Blood pounded in his ears and his hands fisted on his thighs. Too many months had passed since his last visit to a parlor house. That had to be why he was misinterpreting the casual bumps and touches caused by the jerky stagecoach. No other explanation made sense. The saucy gal turned toward the middle of the coach. “I surely don’t know how you ladies wear all these layers of clothes every single day.” What had she just said? Slade narrowed his gaze and scrutinized every detail about Miss Morgan. From the wisps of honey-colored hair that framed her face to the reddish jacket over narrow shoulders and hugging rounded breasts to the skirt that revealed a tantalizing flash of booted ankle. Who was this woman? Mrs. Harrington clapped her hands over the ears of the small boy resting his head on her knee. “Well, I never! Miss, you are most assuredly a disgrace.” Miss Morgan lifted her head, gazed at the woman, and shrugged. “Maybe so, but I bet I’m cooler.” A chuckle threatened to rumble from his chest, but he forced a yawn instead. “I’ll say, today is a real scorcher.” He let his gaze circle the coach and spread his lips into the smile that had cajoled secrets from suspects and prisoners, secrets they’d never intended to divulge. “Does anyone mind if I raise the shade for a bit? We might be lucky 7

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and catch a breeze.” Her fan stopped in mid-stroke, Miss Morgan met his gaze and beamed. “That’s a mighty fine idea, mister.” *

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Jazzy breathed in the scent of bay rum and eyed the fine cut of the tall man’s suit. She could still feel the press of his upper body against her shoulder when he’d leaned to release her skirt. Such solid chest muscles. From the corner of her eye, she gauged the cost of his tailored suit and started figuring the fee she could charge. In her experience, a man with looks, money and all his own teeth was a rarity. Stop…no more thinking about fees. That was part of her old life. When he’d first looked at her and cut off his own response, she’d feared he’d seen past her new traveling suit to the parlor girl beneath. Then she got to thinking this man could be her first conquest. The decision to invite him to her bed would be hers and hers alone. With regret, she shook away that thought. An upstanding citizen like him did not fit into her plan. The coach jostled over a rut and rocked violently. Jazzy’s head bumped against the wooden wall. “Ouch!” “Ma’am, are you alright?” The deep voice of the man to her left tickled up and down her spine. “I’m fine.” She loved raspy voices that hinted at secrets with every spoken word. Wouldn’t she love to learn his secrets? “The movement just surprised me.” He leaned forward to look into her face. “Perhaps if we switch places, you’ll be saved from further injury.” Jazzy gazed into dark brown eyes that seemed caring, and could only blink. This stranger was concerned about a bitty bump on her head. And they didn’t even know one another. “That is right kindly, sir.” 8

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When he stood, she couldn’t help but admire how the woolen trousers tightened over his ass, displaying taut muscles. She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching out to touch him. *

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A knock sounded on the coach roof. “Rest stop coming up.” “Ah, how timely.” Slade lifted his hat from his head and used it to fan his damp face. “We all could use a bit of a stretch.” A few minutes later, Slade handed the quiet female passenger down the coach steps. He didn’t remember hearing her name. “There you go, miss.” Her mouth quirked into a bashful smile, but her gaze didn’t meet his. She ducked her head and quickly stepped toward the building. He turned to help Miss Morgan, but the coach was empty. The opposite door swung wide from movements made by the other passengers’ exits. Obviously the vocal woman was able to manage on her own. As he unbuttoned the front of his waistcoat, he scanned the area to make sure he was alone. In the corral, the driver joked with a man fitting harnesses onto fresh horses. The others must have gone inside the stage stop for refreshments. With his back toward the building, he quickly slid off his jacket and waistcoat, hiding his marshal’s badge in the center of the vest. A breeze molded his shirt to his damp skin and he wished for the freedom of traveling without the jacket. To do his job, he had to look and act like an average rancher or businessman. Not considered proper gentlemanly attire, the absence of a jacket would draw attention. Immediately, the image of Miss Morgan crossed his mind and he couldn’t keep a smile from his lips. There was a woman who gave little thought to proper behavior. He had to find out who she was. He stepped up onto the coach floor, stretched for the overhead rack and snapped open his valise. With 9

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his vest safely stuffed inside, he turned and strode to the building, intent on asking the unusual Miss Morgan a few questions. A gray-haired woman wearing a calico dress and smudged apron greeted him. “Good day, sir. Would you like coffee?” He scanned the room and spotted Miss Morgan at the window, peering out. A quick nod and he turned back to the woman. “That would be fine.” “Take a seat. There’s cornbread on the table.” He moved to an open spot on the bench, but remained standing until his coffee arrived. With a square of cornbread in one hand and his tin cup in the other, he sauntered across the room, his boots resounding on the plank floors. Miss Morgan glanced around at his approach, wrinkled her brows and turned back to the window. “May I join you?” He waited until she turned in his direction, then angled his head in the direction of the table. “Can’t see why those folks are in a hurry to be sitting?” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “My feelings exactly. I’ll be sitting again soon enough.” “Name’s Slade Thomas.” She dipped her chin. “I’m sure you’ve learned my name, Mr. Thomas.” A laugh escaped her. With a look of shared confidence, she leaned close. “Mrs. Harrington surely relishes using it with each admonition.” Her easy manner washed over his senses and he soaked her in—her open smile, her friendly nature, her eyes brimming with mirth. His job seldom allowed for casual socializing, but he was strangely drawn to this woman. “Yes, ma’am, I do admit to hearing Miss Morgan more than once.” She pursed her lips. “Oh, Miss Morgan is so stuffy. Nobody back home calls me that.” 10

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An avenue of questioning he’d wanted to pursue. “What do they call you back home?” “Jaz—um, I mean Jessimay.” His interest piqued at the hesitation. “That’s a pretty name.” Her gaze shifted to the window, scanned the landscape and back. “It was Granny’s name, my granny on my daddy’s side. But she died afore I was born. Some say I favor her looks, but I only know her through family stories.” She sucked in a breath and her gaze widened. “Lordy, bet you didn’t expect my family history.” “I’m interested in people. You might say it’s a hobby.” He watched her over the rim of his cup. Every emotion this woman experienced was showcased on her face. Questioning this woman was almost too easy. “So, where’s back home?” She glanced at the people chatting quietly around the table. “A little bitty place outside of Boerne.” A plausible region nearby enough to explain her presence on this particular stage. “Where are you headed?” “Mountains.” The single word was spoken on a whoosh of air. The sigh pierced him and his chest tightened. “Excuse me? Do you mean Mountain City, Colorado?” “No, I’m headed to whatever mountains are the closest. My ticket gets me as far as Raton, New Mexico.” She moved a step closer, her gaze searching his face. “Have you been there?” Her strange words pricked his curiosity. What kind of person considered mountains a destination? A person who wanted to hide out. Pushing aside a twinge of disappointment, he nodded. “A time or two.” “You have?” She laid a hand on his forearm, excitement brightening her gaze. “Are the mountains beautiful?” The scent of jasmine floated in the air. His body tensed and his nostrils flared, instinctively breathing in more of this fascinating woman. The clamp on his gut tightened and he felt his member 11

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hardening. Damnation. That hadn’t happened since he was a randy youngster. He had to stop this type of thinking. “I suppose you’ve got someone…a man waiting.” She stiffened for an instant, narrowed her eyes, then leaned a shoulder against the wall and braced her hand on her left hip. Her gaze boldly assessed him from head to toe. “Nobody’s awaitin’. What did you have in mind?” The front door banged open and their driver Pete stepped inside. “We’re leaving in five minutes, folks.” Slade barely heard the driver’s voice. His mind was numb with the echo of Jessimay’s sultry words. His job didn’t allow for much time spent in one place, and he’d always vowed not to bring a woman close. He’d been without a woman so long he must have imagined her proposition. “Excuse me, miss?” His words came out partway between a question and a statement. He didn’t dare find out what she meant. Before she could respond, he set the cup on the edge of the table and headed toward the back door. Outside, he ran a shaky hand through his hair and drew several deep breaths. This was crazy. He could not be responding to a woman he suspected of being a criminal. His hands balled into fists and he stomped to the outhouse. Stick to your job, Thomas. Minutes later, Slade closed the door to the privy and started back toward the stage stop. At the far corner of the building, Jessimay peeked out her head and crooked her finger. Intrigued at her odd behavior, he walked in her direction and stopped at a respectable distance. “Do you need assistance?” A sly smile crossed her lips. “I’m thinking you’re the one who needs help.” “I don’t understand.” 12

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“Sure you do.” She stepped closer, reached out a finger and ran it along his jaw. “Those looks you shot me in the stagecoach were so full of heat I feared your pants might burst into flames.” His whole body stiffened and his mouth went dry. She’d been aware of his perusal? Had she also figured out the reason for his pretense? Her hand traveled down to his chest where she rubbed a small circle. “I see you’ve removed your vest. Smart man.” His chest muscles twitched at her touch. Had his jacket opened enough for the badge to be seen? Did she know who he really was? He had to go along with whatever her game was until he knew for sure. Her flowery scent surrounded him, and he swallowed hard before answering, “Because of the heat.” She caressed his stomach, watching him from under her eyelashes. “I wish I had the same choice. But everyone gets so upset when I just undo a couple of silly buttons.” Blood pooled in his groin and he swallowed hard, remembering his reaction to those exact loose buttons. “Proper behavior is the mortar of civilization.” “Oh, I do like listening to a learned man.” Her hand slipped below his belt and cupped him, moving her hand as if weighing his cock. “Mmmm, nice. Is this a display of proper behavior, Mr. Thomas?” His eyes drifted shut and he inhaled sharply. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her soft fingers massaging his hardened shaft. To allow the sensations she created run through his body, to bring light into his dark corners. Then the meaning of her words filtered through the fog in his mind. Who the hell was this woman? He blew out his breath. “Our behavior is not proper. How can you do this, Miss Morgan?” “I’m only doing what you so obviously need.” The velvety purr of her voice reached inside his lonely heart. 13

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Gathering every ounce of willpower he possessed, he stepped back. A man with a profession and a past like his couldn’t allow a woman to get too close. “You’re mistaken, miss.” With a wrench he felt all the way to his bones, he turned and walked toward the front of the building.

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CHAPTER 2

With hands fisted on her hips, Jazzy could only stare at Slade’s straight back and stiff stride. Oh, all right, her gaze was focused a bit lower than his back. She appreciated a fine arrangement of muscle and sinew. How dare he! No male had walked away from her. Ever. Not when every boy in school pushed and shoved for the chance to carry her lunch pail. Not when Billy Weston stood up to his daddy to court her. Not even in her terrifying first week as a fifteen-year-old new to the life in Miss Veronica’s. A soul-numbing experience that taught her to count on no one but herself. She groaned and sagged against the rough-planked building, banging her forehead with both fists. Dumb, dumb, dumb! What had she just done? Her actions had not been those of a genteel lady. Of course, he’d lit out like his boots were on fire. Any proper gentleman would. 15

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Alone with a male above the age of puberty for only a few minutes and her basest instincts had taken over. In truth, her old habits had been running full steam from the moment that particular man had boarded the stage. Before he’d opened his mouth to greet the others, she’d started sizing him up—judging his worth by the cut of his clothes and the way he conducted himself—and set her asking price. The longer she’d watched, the more she’d been tempted to cut him a deal. In her experience, a truly good-looking male in possession of God-given parts in such fine shape didn’t happen by very often. “Stagecoach is heading out,” Pete’s voice drifted into her thoughts. He stood at the corner of the building and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “All passengers must board now.” Huffing short breaths through tight lips, Jazzy squared her shoulders and stomped off toward the stage. She had to put that part of her life behind her. Time to concentrate on her future—a future that involved traveling to a mountain city and opening her own shop. Her hand smoothed along the fabric and patted the folds of her skirt, checking for the coins sewn into numerous pockets in her petticoat. A sigh of relief escaped her. As long as she had her money, everything would be okay. She rounded the corner of the building and spotted Pete standing beside the open door of the coach. Her steps immediately shortened. She didn’t feel up to sharing the small space with that infuriating man. Yet she became aware of a most unexpected heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. Embarrassment? Not likely. Expectation? Out of the question! Pete waved her forward. “There ye be, miss. Thought you’d figured on waiting fer the next coach.” Had fate intervened with another choice? Hope bubbled in her chest and she stopped a few steps from the door. “There’s another one? When?” 16

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The driver scratched his chin. “In four days.” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh.” As much as she wanted to avoid Mr. Thomas, she wanted to get on with her new life more. “Driver!” Mrs. Harrington stuck her head into the doorway and narrowed her gaze at Jazzy. “Are we still on schedule?” Pete’s wiry hand at Jazzy’s elbow guided her into the coach. Being last meant she was wedged in the middle between the quiet woman and the older gentleman. “Close enough, Miz Harrington.” Pete crossed his arms and rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Folks, I allowed a bit more time at this stop and may do the same for supper. Been some trouble at a station down the line. Bandits stole the reserve horses, so we may have to stop for the night.” “Bandits!” several voices chorused. Jazzy gasped, her hands freezing in the folds of her skirts. Thieves in the night! A knot formed in her stomach. Her money. Instinctively, her gaze swung to Slade, the most powerful of the group, and she studied his face for a reaction. His jaw tightened, but otherwise his face remained calm. Slade’s hand gripped the window frame. “Anyone hurt?” At the realization she looked at him as a protector, she forced away her gaze and focused on the driver’s leathery face. Jazzy relied on Jazzy. Pete shook his head. “Naw, the cowards snuck in at night. When they knew there’d be no resistance. If we can’t find replacements, we’ll have to let the horses rest.” “This is horrible luck!” Mrs. Harrington stiffened and shifted in her seat, jostling the boy squeezed next to her. “Now we’ll be even later.” “It happens.” Pete stood silent for a moment, then shrugged and moved out of sight. The coach tilted to one side as Pete climbed aboard. A moment later, the whip sounded and the coach lurched forward. 17

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Jazzy leaned back, her thoughts in a whirl. Would replacements be found? Were they headed into danger? Life outside of Miss Veronica’s was surely full of surprises. The thought about her former employer reminded her about Tucker and his solemn intent to marry her! From where she now sat, she couldn’t check out a rear window. She’d watched along the back trail for two days and hadn’t spotted anyone following the coach. Maybe he’d forgotten all about her. With this talk of danger, all the stories of the Wild West came flooding back from the penny novels she’d read. Of hold-ups, thieving bandits and runaway stagecoaches. Although the stories were exciting to read, she’d never put much stock in those stories being true. The other passengers seemed concerned aplenty about Pete’s news. Minutes dragged with not one spoken word. Each passenger digested the driver’s information in his or her own way. Indirect glances skittered away. Positions shifted on the hard seats. Fingers tugged on bonnet ties. Knees bounced, shoes tapped. The quiet tension gnawed on Jazzy’s nerves and she edged forward. What would happen later on the trip would happen, whether she worried on it or not. Might as well start figuring out what type of shop could be profitable. “Mrs. Harrington, your traveling suit looks to be so much in fashion. Tell me about the type of shop where you bought it.” With an intake of breath and a pleased smile, Mrs. Harrington brushed a hand down the front of her navy blue jacket. “Do you like it? I’ve just come from a visit with my sister, who lives in St. Louis. She wore one in a deep forest green to an afternoon tea during my stay. The cut was all wrong for her, but she wouldn’t listen to my suggestions.” She adjusted the folds of her skirt and glanced up. “I believe the style suits me better.” Jazzy wrinkled her brows at the expectant look on the woman’s face, waiting for the rest of the information she sought. Oh! “Yes, the style truly does compliment you.” Making polite conversation sure 18

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made a body pay attention. “I knew I must have the same pattern. So I provided the expertise and her modiste stitched it.” A dressmaker. Jazzy leaned forward in her seat. A dressmaking shop. If the amounts she and the ladies had spent were any indication, a dress shop could turn a handsome profit. In her first months at Miss Veronica’s, she’d earned her room and board by keeping the ladies’ clothes in good repair. Recently she’d only lifted a needle to stitch on accent lace or bows. Maybe with practice, her stitching could improve. She made a mental note to look into the rates dressmakers charged. The stage jostled through a rut and she braced her feet on the floorboards to steady herself. She glanced at the woman on her right and noticed the crisp fabric of her dress. The color was all wrong for the woman’s complexion, the fit was bad, and the style definitely needed a touch of some lace or bows to perk it up. Jazzy angled her shoulders to peer around the brim of the woman’s bonnet and smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Jessimay Morgan.” The woman started, her pale blue eyes flicked up to Jazzy’s, then away. “How do you do? I’m Sarah Whitfield.” The skin along Jazzy’s neck tingled and instinct told her Slade had turned his gaze on her face. She refused to respond. If she did, she’d get too distracted. This conversation was her salvation from thinking about her stupid actions with that man. Jazzy pushed her lips into a wide smile and plunged ahead. “Where are you from, Sarah?” “Kansas.” “I’m from right here in Texas, born and raised.” Finding out a body’s birthplace or hometown was the secret of opening conversation. Get the man to talk about himself—that’s what the ladies back at Miss Veronica’s had taught her before her first night of entertaining 19

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gentlemen. Jazzy supposed the same worked with women. “I enter—, uh, met someone from Kansas once. He talked about the flat land and the constant wind. Was your part of Kansas like that?” Sarah’s eyes flicked up again and widened. “Um, I grew up in a city.” Jazzy drew in a breath. “Oh, which one? Kansas City? Wichita? Topeka? Are cities like those just the most excitin’ places you ever saw?” The woman hesitated, a frown wrinkling her brow. Her arms tightened on the satchel in her lap. “I’m heading to a quieter life.” “I’m askin’ because I’m interested in your dress. It looks new and I admire the fabric.” Mercy, she sounded like a pesky busybody. “I’m wondering about the type of shop where you bought it.” Sarah’s gaze swept the other passengers before she spoke. “I picked this up in a mercantile in Oklahoma City. To wear when I meet the man I’m traveling to marry.” A mercantile! Jazzy felt her breath quicken. She was on the right track. “A wedding, how exciting. So, the dress is ready-made? Would I be too bold to ask how much you paid for it?” Sarah’s lips twitched. “Seven dollars and fifty cents.” “Really?” Jazzy focused on the plain woman. “Was that full price? Or did you try to bargain? Back home, the ladies, um, my friends and I never paid full price for our clothes. We could always work out a deal with the mercantile owner.” The other woman drew back, eyes wide in surprise, and shook her head. “Full price!” Mrs. Harrington gasped and covered her son’s ears. From the corner of her eye, Jazzy saw Slade turn his head, his darkeyed gaze intent on her. Why in the world was a man like him so interested in women’s fashion? 20

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*

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At the sight of buildings on the horizon, Slade let out a relieved breath. Soon he’d put needed distance between himself and the infuriating, but bewitching, Miss Morgan. Most women would have clammed up from embarrassment after pulling the crazy stunt she had. Not this female. She’d tangled gazes with him only a few times during the afternoon drive, but not once had he detected a single sign of regret. If he hadn’t been the recipient of her caresses… His mind drifted to the gentle rubbing of her soft hand on his hard cock. To his body’s instant response to her touch. To the few seconds of pure pleasure that had flooded him. On a reflex, his gaze shifted to Jazzy’s side of the coach. He noticed her open smile and the sassy jut of her chin, and the way her hands moved when she talked. Heat again filled his groin. Damn! He had no right to think of her in that way. With as natural a movement as he could manage, he raised a knee and shifted his butt on the coach’s hard cushion to lessen the pressure from his trousers. He could allow himself no carnal lusting after a woman under suspicion of being the wanted bank robber. A woman innocent of the subterfuge necessary to get away with such a crime would never have been intimidated by Mrs. Harrington’s comments. Surely her conversation about women’s fashions had involved more than innocent questions. Her questions kept coming back to seek information about opening a business. A logical inquiry only for someone who possessed a great quantity of money. When the women’s discussion unraveled into comparisons of fabrics, laces, buttons, and bows, he’d closed off his mind to their chatter. Concentrating on the known facts, he ran the pieces of information through his mind, searching for the one detail that would pinpoint which woman was the culprit. The stage slowed and the driver hollered for the horses to stop. For 21

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a moment no one moved, as if each savored the quiet, a welcome reprieve from the endless jostling, creaking harnesses, clopping hoof beats, and the crunch of ironclad wheels on rocks. Stillness settled over the passengers, quickly followed by a layer of road dust. Pete thumped the roof of the coach. “This here’s Silveridge, our stop for the night. Rooms are let at Ella’s boardinghouse down the street on your left.” Mrs. Harrington shook her son’s shoulders and nudged him upright. “Get up and open the door, Chester. We must hurry to get the pick of rooms.” Yawning, the boy rubbed fists in his half-opened eyes and fumbled with the door. “Allow me, son.” Slade reached over and turned the handle. Mrs. Harrington bustled past his outstretched hand, a frown pinching her mouth tight. “Take Mother’s hand, Chester. No dillydallying. We want to have first choice of rooms.” Slade eased his frame through the door and arched his back against the aches that had settled there hours before. A day on horseback never bothered him. But the same time spent traveling by stage, forcing his long legs into a narrow space, made him feel as tightly wound as a new spring. A rustling of fabric from behind brought his attention to the remaining women. He turned to offer a hand to Miss Whitfield, but Mr. Denton must have assisted the ladies. “Slade?” Pete’s voice came from atop the wagon. “Help hand down these bags, will ya?” Within moments the passengers’ bags sat on the boardwalk and Pete stood staring at the pile. “Do you suppose Mrs. Harrington is expecting me to haul her bags up to Ella’s?” Slade thumbed back his hat and ran a hand over his jaw. The rasp of beard stubble reminded him of a promise he’d made to himself. “I’ll 22

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carry them. This town got a good bathhouse?” Pete jabbed him in the ribs and gave him a broad wink. “Gonna get gussied up and visit The Lucky Strike?” He jerked his head up the street. Slade eyed a saloon two buildings along the boardwalk with tinny piano noise and raucous laughter coming from its doorway. He shook his head. “Just want to soak my aching muscles.” “Soak?” Jessimay turned from where she had bent over the pile of bags, her eyes filled with longing. “As in a hot bath? I would pay a pretty penny for a long bath with lots of steamy water”—she sighed— “and maybe some rose petals floating on the top.” In his mind, Slade pictured the scene. He saw her slender form approach the steaming bathtub. She shrugged her shoulders and a silky garment dropped to her feet, exposing creamy, smooth skin. Skin that his hands itched to touch. He wasn’t halfway done looking his fill, but her luscious body slowly disappeared under the bubbly water. The images he’d conjured heated his blood. His stomach clenched and his hands drew into fists. He hadn’t thought about needing a woman in weeks. Trailing the bank robber had occupied all his thoughts. What was it about this particular woman that unsettled him? Action. He needed physical activity. Plus he needed to put distance between himself and the woman who stood three feet away. Slade hefted all the unclaimed bags into his arms. “I’ll be taking these now. See ya in the morning, Pete.” He dipped his chin in her direction, but didn’t trust himself to look her in the eye. “Miss Morgan.” With that, he started off, cursing himself as the biggest fool this side of the Mississippi. “Ah, Mr. Thomas?” Slade tensed. Had she figured out what he’d been thinking? Not trusting his voice, he glanced over his shoulder and raised a questioning 23

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eyebrow. Her gaze darted from boardwalk to the street and back, as the smile on her pink lips flashed, then disappeared. “Would you mind escortin’ me? I’m a bit overwhelmed by crowds.” Crowds? Slade glanced around and counted no more than twenty people in sight. Was she actually nervous? The bold and defiant Miss Jessimay Morgan? More likely this was another ploy by an accomplished con artist. For purely investigative reasons, he nodded and moved to the outside of the boardwalk. Her hand gripped the inside of his elbow and held tight. He gritted his teeth against the instant heat her touch caused, shifted the bags in his arms, and walked toward the boardinghouse. “I do appreciate this favor.” With precision, he forced out a polite reply. “Of course, ma’am.” They paused to allow a woman with a child anchored to each hand cross in front of them to enter the mercantile. A few more feet along the boardwalk, she leaned close and whispered, “And I wanted to explain about my earlier behavior.” The exact subject he preferred not to have mentioned again. At least, not within range of polite company. “No need. It’s forgotten.” “Well, isn’t that sad.” He glanced around, looking for an injured animal or a raggedly clothed child. Nothing. “Beg your pardon?” Someone stepped through a doorway without looking and bumped into Jessimay, pushing her against him. Her soft breast nudged his forearm and, even through his jacket sleeve, his skin was scorched. Branded by the intimate contact. He gritted his teeth and breathed in quickly through his nose. “Pardon me.” He glanced over Jazzy’s head and spotted Mrs. Harrington. Her voice was apologetic, until she spotted whom she’d bumped into. 24

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She sniffed loudly. “Oh, it’s you. About time someone arrived with our bags.” She reached for hers and pulled. Slade broke contact with Jessimay and juggled the bags as best as he could. “I’ll be glad to carry these into the boardinghouse, ma’am.” “But I need mine right away. I simply must have a change of clothing before supper.” Irritation at this bossy woman stiffened his hold. He strode over the threshold and dumped the bags at the foot of an iron coat rack. “Careful. I’ve got delicates packed in there.” Mrs. Harrington swooped down on the pile and pried free her bags. From the corner of the room, Miss Whitfield moved forward and reached for a battered satchel. “Thank you, sir.” Slade touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.” A tall, smiling woman approached, drying her hands on her apron. “I’m Ella. Welcome to my establishment. You’ll be wanting separate rooms?” “No,” Mrs. Harrington spoke up, her hand moving between herself and the quiet woman. “Miss Whitfield and I wish to share a room. Safety in numbers, you know.” Jazzy shook her head, curls bobbing around her face. “What’s the fun there?” Astonished faces turned to stare at the woman whose eyes had widened and whose face was rapidly turning pink. Slade gulped back a laugh. Her outlook on life constantly surprised him. “Oh!” Jazzy’s hand covered her mouth and she gazed at the circle of people around her. She dropped her hand to her side and grabbed a handful of skirt. “I meant to say there’d be no fun in sharing with me because I snore so horribly. A trait passed down by my dear departed papa. Louder than a hornet’s nest, and a wet hornet’s nest at that. Mama always did say that about me.” 25

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Suspicion raised the hair on his neck. She was lying. Including too many details in an explanation was a surefire tell. With quick movements, Ella waved them forward. “So, that’s three rooms. Follow me.” Slade allowed the ladies to go first and then he scooped up his bag, making sure he lagged behind the group. He was very interested in learning which room Jazzy was given. A few minutes looking through her belongings would be time well spent. If he could arrest her tonight, this investigation would end. Then he’d be free to get on with the rest of his life. Alone and on his ranch in the mountains. On the second floor, he leaned against the newel post and watched Ella show the rooms to the ladies, pointing out the advantages of each. Finally, the two ladies settled on the room at the end of the hall away from the street, at Mrs. Harrington’s insistence. Jazzy stood with her hand on the knob to the middle room to the right of the stairs. Her gaze rested on him and didn’t waver. Something in her eyes beckoned him, and he stepped closer. “Do you need help, Miss Morgan?” She tilted her head and tapped a finger at the corner of her mouth. “I must need help.” “I don’t understand.” “That is just so sad.” She turned to her room and pushed open the door, mumbling under her breath, “If you’ve forgotten that moment outside the stage stop, I’m losing my touch.” *

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An hour later, Jazzy stomped up the stairs of the boardinghouse muttering, “Twenty-five cents! For a sponge bath! Outrageous for a basin of tepid water, stinky homemade soap, and a dingy gray towel.” She crossed the hall and grabbed the doorknob to Room 3. Scuffling sounded from the far side of the room and the bedsprings squeaked. Her breath hitched in her throat and gooseflesh rose on her 26

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skin. Light filtered from the door opening and the acrid smell of a kerosene lamp tickled her nose. Jazzy hesitated—she hadn’t left the lamp burning. Almost on its own, her hand patted the folds of her skirt. Her money was safe. A foot away stood a small table with several books in a stack. She lifted the top one and hefted it, weighing its effectiveness as a weapon. What she owned might not be much, but it was hers. With no time to call for help, she quickly drew back her arm into throwing position and stepped inside. She froze at the sight before her. The book dropped from her grasp, dully thudding on the wooden floor. Slade Thomas lay on the counterpane of her iron bed, jacket hung from the bedpost and stocking feet crossed at the ankles. Even from across the room, she sensed the poised strength of this potent man. Against the fabric of her camisole, her breasts grew heavy and her nipples tingled. The man was too handsome for her peace of mind. Before she started her questions, she breathed deeply. A definite mistake. The movement only teased her nipples into tight peaks. “I reckon you’re in the wrong room, Mr. Thomas.” One dark eyebrow rose in question. “Oh?” Why did he have to be so manly? She nodded and cast her gaze around the room, surreptitiously checking her personal items in plain view. All seemed to be in place. “This is my room. Number 3.” A grin eased his lips apart, showing a flash of white teeth. “Three has always been my lucky number.” His low-pitched voice flowed around her, as smooth as Kentucky sipping whiskey. Deep, rumbling voices were her particular weakness. A shiver ran over her skin, yet her blood burned. Years of practice settled like a cloak over her movements. She shifted her weight and rested a hand on her forward hip. “So, you’re feelin’ lucky, are you?” His gaze skittered to the side and back to her face, then slowly ran 27

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down the length of her body. He levered himself up onto an elbow and leaned toward the middle of the springy mattress. “Yes, ma’am.” That voice again. She sighed. With an exaggerated swing in her step, Jazzy approached the end of the bed. His gaze appeared riveted on her bust line. As she moved, her fingers loosened the front buttons of her jacket and shrugged it off her shoulders. Folding it to hide her mother’s cameo, she let the garment drop to the seat of a nearby chair. Maybe there was another reason for his visit—a reason that didn’t involve the two of them rolling around in the middle of this bed, aroused and completely naked. “Slade?” “Yeah.” His gaze lifted to hers and held, his eyes dark with desire. She eased several buttons through the buttonholes of her blouse, then rested her forearms along the top bar of the iron foot rail. “Please tell me you’ve come for more than a discussion about tomorrow’s travels.” A half step brought her breasts in contact with her arms and she leaned forward, feeling her breasts push against the upper confines of her corset. His gaze slipped to her exposed skin, and she watched his hands tighten into fists. The man was obviously conflicted in his desire. The air between them felt heavy and electrically charged, like before a summer thunderstorm. “That I have.” As often as she’d seen a similar reaction, she felt a special thrill at this obvious interest from a man who looked like he knew more than one way to act on that desire. Lordy, this man’s expression set her senses reeling. A sheen of dewy perspiration broke out on her chest and her body seemed weighed down by too much clothing. In a flash, Jazzy knew she wanted this time to be different. She didn’t want to direct the encounter, to force herself to go through the regular routines. Tonight she wanted to be wooed, to have him remove her clothes, slowly and with his kisses skimming along her skin as each 28

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additional inch was exposed. She wanted to give herself permission to truly feel the encounter, maybe even enjoy the sensations. Pushing away from the rail, she shook her head. What had put those crazy ideas into her mind? This night wasn’t much different than the past fourteen hundred others—give or take a few. Her weighted petticoat banged lightly against her thighs. Inside was all the money she had in the world and it needed to stay hidden from those she didn’t know well. In other words, everyone. Covering for her apparent indecision, Jazzy spun to face him and undulated her hips in an alluring fashion. A trick that often distracted her customers. “Do tell? I’m not sure I understand your meaning, sir.” Slade pushed a hand against the mattress and rose to his feet, seeming intent on crossing the floor to where she stood. No, she didn’t want him close. Not yet. Not while she still wore her petticoat with the money in her pocket. In three steps, she was close enough to reach out and lay a hand flat against his chest. The palm of her hand touched solid muscle and she brazenly savored his strength. Oh, my! She swallowed hard before speaking, “Sit back and relax, Slade.” With a gentle shove, she toppled him backwards onto the bed. A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest and his gaze was thorough in a slow perusal of her entire body. Careful to position her feet in the middle of the small rug at the side of the bed, she kept her hips moving and leaned forward to flash him plenty of cleavage. At the same time, her fingers worked the buttons at the waistband of her skirt. Her common sense told her she would regret this taste of paradise, but her instinct argued this was a night for making memories. The last button popped from its restraint and she slid free the ribbon ties on her petticoat. With a wiggle of her behind, she inched the skirt and petticoat downward, being sure they landed on the rug to deaden 29

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the sound of the coins. She stepped back and raised her arms to remove the pins from her hair. At the sight of her blond curls tumbling over her shoulders, his hungry eyes lit with feral heat. With a quick kick, she scooted the pile of fabric under the bed and sashayed around to Slade’s side of the bed. Slade hadn’t moved. His long legs hung over the side of the mattress, feet braced on the floor, and he lounged back on his elbows. “Are you always this sassy?” With a wink and a wide smile, Jazzy nudged his legs wider and stepped between them. “I can be.” Unable to resist the pull of his intent gaze, she rested both hands on the bed and leaned close. “And sometimes I’m sassier yet.” In a flash, he twisted and clamped a restraining hand on her upper arm, levering her to sit on the edge of the mattress. Warm fingers fumbled along the inside of her left hand. A metallic snap filled the air. Jazzy started and her eyes widened at the touch of cold metal against her skin. She looked down at the shiny handcuff encircling her wrist, the other end hooked to the bed rail, and back up at Slade. Her heart skittered a beat, then a smile pushed up the corners of her lips. “Oh, it’s that kind of night, is it?”

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CHAPTER 3

For a moment, the sauciness of her question didn’t register. He was too busy concentrating on the heat where her touch had branded his skin. Slade looked down at her wrist to make sure he hadn’t imagined using the handcuffs. “What kind of night?” She gave him a slow wink and a smile full of anticipation stretched her lips. “Captives.” He shook his head. Why didn’t she look upset? Most robbers he’d arrested fought at the first touch of the metal restraint against their skin. She eased closer and rested her free hand on his forearm, a glint lighting her blue eyes. The muscles under her hand jumped in response. Why couldn’t he keep his mind on business? What about this woman had gotten under his skin since the first moment he’d sat beside her on the stagecoach? She pressed closer, brushing the front of her corset against his chest. 31

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“Am I a southern belle and you’re a dirty Yankee who just occupied my family’s plantation? Or am I the medieval maiden being kidnapped by a rival laird for the price of her father’s lands?” He sucked in a breath at the friction her movements created, only to inhale her fragrance. Her skin radiated a spicy heat that sent his thoughts spinning toward sinful pleasures. Pure torture. The animal part of him wanted to take her right here, right now. The lawman part of his brain told him to ignore what was being offered and just do his job. “What about the sheriff and the bank robber?” Looking from under lowered eyelids, Jazzy ran a finger along his jaw. “I haven’t played that one. Sounds like fun. But my favorite is the princess stolen by the Indian warrior. Will you be my warrior, Slade?” Slade gritted his teeth against the pure need flashing through him and the hunger building in his loins. Too much time had passed since he’d last enjoyed a woman’s soft touch. That had to be the reason his control was weakening. He knew not to mix pleasure with business, but a part of him couldn’t resist the enticing lure of this playful siren. The expression in her eyes softened, her lips were moist and too much skin was within easy reach. “So I’m your prisoner? What do you want from me?” The short answer, “Information,” was on the tip of his tongue. When his gaze flicked down to satiny breasts plumped by her corset, he reconsidered. A few kisses might not hurt. “A small taste.” He lowered his head and grazed his mouth along her temple and down her cheek. Immediately, his shaft hardened and pushed painfully against his trousers. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand had tangled in her hair and held her head in place. He leaned close, intent on capturing her mouth. Instead, her lips brushed his jaw and she lapped at his neck. A low moan sounded and Slade couldn’t tell whose it was. Raising his head for a better angle, he tried to catch her gaze. Panting breaths 32

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tickled his chin, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. Her lids fluttered open, but her expression was wary. “Such fair skin, Jessimay. Fitting for a pampered princess.” She moaned and raised a hand to his shoulder, rubbing a slow path that ended at the back of his neck. “But are you a savage?” His skin rippled at her touch and he shifted a leg to lessen the pull in his groin. A flood of passion flowed through his body. He couldn’t get enough of this tantalizing woman. “You don’t want to test me.” “Oooh, such tough talk.” She eased back and, with one hand, worked on the buttons of his shirt, her blue eyes flashing with sexual heat. Her fingers fumbled and pulled on the fabric. “Slow down.” He covered her hand with his and pressed until her fingers stilled. “No need to rush.” His thumb slid along the underside of her palm and drew small circles. She gasped and shivered. “That tickles…but I love it.” Decisiveness. An admirable quality. He chuckled and grazed his knuckles the length of her cheek, releasing his hold on her hair. “You’ll love this.” Trailing one hand over her shoulder and down to her elbow, he eased her second arm over her head and snapped the steel cuff closed. He eased his body onto the mattress. Her body stiffened. “What’s this?” “A test of control.” His voice was pitched low and he studied her expression to make sure she wasn’t panicked. Seeing her steady gaze, he ran his fingertips along the inside of her wrist to the crook of her elbow. “I want to touch you all over.” Jazzy bit her lower lip and squirmed. “Really?” He moved his fingers along her arm, enjoying the smoothness. Up and over her shoulder, along her collarbone before he dipped into the hollow of her throat. The mattress shifted from her fidgety movements. A sigh escaped her lips. 33

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“You like that?” “Oh, yes.” Her words puffed out. His blood thrummed in his ears and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. “What about this?” He skimmed his fingers down her chest and ran them along the skin at the upper edge of her corset. His pointer delved into the valley between her breasts and heated from her warm skin. She arched off the mattress and the cuffs clanked against the headboard. “Slade, I want more.” Those three words shattered his restraint. Because he couldn’t get enough of her, he spread his fingers across her bare back, savoring her skin’s silkiness. Angling his body, he eased her backwards until she again laid flat on the mattress, arms awkwardly raised over her head. “Slade, I need both hands. Please undo the handcuffs…my warrior chief.” She batted her eyelashes and grinned. One glance at her awkward position and her captured hands, hands that wouldn’t be touching his skin, drove his decision. He dug the key out of his trouser pocket and unlocked the handcuffs, letting them fall to the rug. Then he set to kissing her cheek, her jaw, her earlobes, her neck. Every spot his lips touched smelled spicy like her and aroused him more. Her reason for allowing such liberties nagged at his thoughts, but he pushed it away. He needed this night, he wanted this encounter. Since she was obviously willing, he intended to enjoy his fill of what this surprising woman offered his lonely self. He kissed his way down to the tops of her breasts, taking time to enjoy each inch of skin he could reach, but was blocked from his goal by the stiff edges of her corset. He lifted his head and whispered, “Roll to your side.” “Hmmm?” Her eyes were closed and one hand played with the hair that curled around his ear. 34

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“I need to untie your corset.” Her head lifted off the bed. When she looked at him, confusion clouded her expression. “You’re really going to undress me?” His heart rate slowed and he bit back a groan. Now was not the time for her to play innocent and coy. “Yeah, more fun with fewer clothes.” With languid movements, she shifted her hips and rolled, cradling her head in the crook of her elbow. “But I can’t reach you.” She sounded like she was enjoying this as much as he was. He tugged on the laces, hoping he wouldn’t rip the fabric in his haste to get this confining garment off her sweet body. “Sit up a second. Raise your arms and I’ll slide this over your head.” She obliged, and the moment the corset passed her elbows, she sighed deeply. He tossed it behind him and, an instant later, her thin chemise was gone, revealing the pale skin of her back. He rested his hands on her creamy shoulders, tracing the angles of her bones with his thumbs. Red pressure spots marked her skin and he bent his head to trace the lines running across her back with soothing kisses. She arched and reached back to run her hands along his sides with stroking caresses. Instinct surfaced. Slade flinched at the sensations of a touch so near where his gun usually rested. He forced himself to relax and enjoy her gentle touch. Scooting closer, he dropped kisses on her nape, then reached around to her breasts and let their weight fill his hands. His thumbs massaged a path from the sides of her breasts almost to their tips, but stopped just shy of the nipple. She leaned against his chest and rested her hands on his thighs. “I like this position.” “Me too, Jessimay.” “You can call me, Jazzy.” A nickname? Didn’t sound like one a family member would 35

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bestow. The part of his brain that still worked like a lawman’s tucked away this new information. “Jazzy. It fits.” His thumbs retraced the path, this time moving closer. “Oooh, that’s nice.” She dropped her shoulder as if trying to rub herself against his questing thumb. Her hands ran up and down his thighs. To put them both out of their misery, he flicked her nipples with the tips of his thumbs and reveled when they tightened into hard beads. He shifted his hands and rolled the tips between his fingers, enjoying the sensation of her warm breasts cupped in his hands. She stiffened and her hands clamped hard onto his thighs. “Oh, yes. Harder.” Her response fired his blood and his cock strained against the fly of his trousers. By stretching out his leg, he scooted closer and pressed his erection against her hip. But it wasn’t enough. He had to touch and taste more of her. He planted a kiss where her neck and shoulder met, his tongue laving her sweet skin. The urge to brand this woman as his own swept through him and he sucked harder. Jazzy squirmed in his embrace, her head rolling on his shoulder. Slade raised his head, an apology already forming on his lips. She turned and knelt in the vee of his legs, golden curls tumbled over her shoulders. Luminous eyes connected with his, while her hands moved toward the buttons of his pants. “My turn to undress you.” Content to simply watch, he leaned back on his hands and gave her easier access to his trousers. From this position, he enjoyed the sight of the rosy tips of her nipples peeking through the fall of her hair. Her fingertips tracing the band of his trousers tickled his stomach. With each released button, her hands moved lower, brushing against his engorged member. He drew in a deep breath and gritted his teeth, trying to imagine each caress as accidental. Because if he didn’t, he’d have to admit how 36

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close he was to losing control. A self-control that hadn’t wavered in years. When the last button was undone, she trailed a single finger from his balls to the tip of his cock, then winked. “Impressive.” A groan rumbled from deep in his chest and he drew her down on top of him into a tight embrace. Her plump breasts crushed into his chest and he couldn’t deny how right their bodies felt together. With gazes locked on each other, they used their hands to caress exposed skin, teasing each other to a feverish pitch. “Whoooeee!” She broke away and rolled off him, the bed frame creaking with the movement. She jumped from the bed and reached toward his feet, yanking the hems of his trousers until they started to slide down his hips. The pull of the fabric against his engorged cock inflamed him more. To keep himself from exploding, he eased himself up, balancing on elbows and heels. In only a few moments, she’d stripped off his clothes and stretched out next to him. Her hand moved in a circle over his chest and stomach. “Isn’t that better?” He kissed her nose. “Much.” As if they’d been together before, they snuggled into position, her softness fitting perfectly against his hard angles, her lively spirit filling the hollow insides of a solitary man. With an intent born of pure need, Slade ran his hand over her breast, toying with the nipple until she sighed, then ran his palm over her stomach to the waistband of her pantaloons. He slipped lower and probed the slit in her drawers until he felt the springy curls covering her mound. She stiffened in his arms, a resisting hand pressed hard against his chest. “You don’t have to do that.” “Jazzy, I’ve got to touch you.” Dropping kisses on her shoulder, he 37

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eased his hand downward so his fingers could delve into her silky folds. Deep in his chest, a knot loosened, one he hadn’t known was there. With each stroke along her moist, womanly lips, he felt her body relax. At the same time, his own tightened. With aching need. The raw need to be inside her. He pressed one finger into her honeyed channel and back out. Then again, deeper this time. Her breathing quickened and her hips angled upward, as if following his hand. “Oh, Slade, don’t stop.” He rubbed a knuckle around the bud of her womanhood and felt it swell under his touch. His penis throbbed in response and a fullness settled in his groin. With swift movements, he probed her channel, first with one finger, then with two and massaged her bud with the pad of his thumb. Her hips bucked swiveled under his hand and she drew up a leg close to her bottom to brace a foot on the springy mattress. As she lifted her hips, she rotated them and pressed against his hand. Slade kept up with her movements and dropped kisses on whatever bare skin he could reach, his own skin warming as he pleasured her body. “Oooh, I’m on fire.” Jazzy’s head tossed from side to side and her hand reached up to caress her own nipple, plucking at the bud with an increased tempo. “Help me, Slade.” The confusion in her voice didn’t match the unashamed way she touched herself. But Slade was too busy concentrating on her arousing body to contemplate that question. He scooted down a few inches and kissed his way from the rounded top of her breast to its rigid peak. His tongue swirled around the tip and he blew on it, enjoying how it puckered at his touch. Jazzy grabbed the back of his head and held him in place. A throaty 38

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moan escaped. His tongue flicked across her taut nipple, making it bead tighter. Then he drew it into his mouth and continued swirling his tongue around the tight bud. The strokes of his tongue matched those of his fingers. His own need raged and he pressed his erection against her hip. “Slade!” Jazzy cried out at the same moment she clamped a hand onto his shoulder and jerked her hips. From deep inside came waves of her completion, as dewy drops of her ecstasy dripped along his fingers, but he kept massaging her bud until she relaxed. When she lay limp in his arms, he gently brushed the damp tendrils of hair off her forehead and cheeks. She turned her head and looked up, specks of flickering lamplight reflecting in her shining eyes. “Your hands are truly wonders of nature.” Was that awe he detected in her voice? How could that be? She shifted and let her hand trail down his side and caress his hip. “You certainly are a patient man.” Her fingers ran his rigid length and back to circle the head, stroking with gentle touches. He hissed out a breath. “For good reason.” Her soft hand encircled his cock and started a sensual massage, alternately cupping and rolling his balls in her palm. Her thumb rubbed the underside, while her fingers rippled along his sensitive shaft. All rational thoughts fled and his body acted purely on instinct. Possess and claim. He pushed off the mattress enough to untie her pantaloons and strip them down her legs. Finally, he could look at her body in all its exquisite naked glory. But he was past the point of gazing—he had to have her. “Jazzy, I need to be in you.” She smiled and held up her arms. “Take me, my warrior.” With his knee, he nudged her legs apart and eased close to her opening. The head of his rod probed her cleft and entered slowly. Seeing his cock disappearing into her nest of wet blonde curls excited 39

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him further. He wanted to savor the experience of their bodies coming together, but the sensations were too strong. A single, deep stroke and he was home. “Ah, my princess.” He felt warmth spread from the inside of his body to the edges of his skin. A warmth that ran deeper than the action on this mattress. Being one with this woman felt so right. Withdrawal to her opening and then thrust inside again. Deep and hard. “Yes!” Jazzy arched and the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. Her legs wrapped around him and she moved her hips from side to side against his groin, increasing the friction. They moved in rhythm, caressing bare skin, nibbling at hot flesh and racing the other to the finish. Slade heard only a pounding in his ears and thrust deeper and faster, straining to stay in control until Jazzy caught up. But when she raised her head close to his chest and licked his nipple, he lost it. One hand clamped onto her hip, he pushed himself as deep as he could go and thrust once more, exhaling a loud groan as his seed pumped inside Jazzy. From deep within, her body clamped him tightly, milking his rigid cock, and her cry of pleasure echoed his. He slumped over her body, breathing heavily onto her neck, waiting for his blood to slow its racing. Within moments, he felt her fingers making lazy trails up and down his back. He grunted and tried to lean some of his weight on an elbow, barely able to lift his head high enough to look at her. Her eyes flashed and a wicked smile covered her saucy lips. “That was great. What shall we pretend now?”

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CHAPTER 4

Jazzy fought against the sting building behind her eyes. Never had a man paid attention to her needs. She’d always been the one to worry about the customers getting their money’s worth. Movements she used had always been one of several routines. Even the words she’d spoken just now sounded rehearsed to her own ears. But not tonight. This was exciting and unusual, and she aimed to enjoy it while it lasted. She aligned her body alongside his hip and ran her fingers up his thigh, leaving a trail of twitching muscle. This big, strong man was reacting to her simple touch, and he wasn’t even paying for the privilege of being naked in the bed with her. “Now you just relax. My turn for a little fun.” She slid from the sheets, grabbed the coverlet from the foot of the bed, and swathed her body. The cloth covered her from breasts to toes, cinched in place by her arms held close to her side. When she turned back to Slade, she dipped her chin and only looked at him through 41

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downcast lashes. “I present myself to you, sir. My name is Aileana and I was sent here by my father, Laird of McShane.” Slade’s black hair and dark brown eyes reminded her of a fierce Scottish hero she’d read about in The Young Ladies Journal. Reading adventure stories in the dime novels had been a favorite way to pass an idle afternoon at Miss Veronica’s. Slade raised his head and looked at her with wrinkled brows. “Jazzy, what are you…” A fluttering settled in her stomach. Would he think this playacting was too silly? Or would he play along like before? She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Sir, my name is Aileana.” She stepped next to the bed and dipped a shallow curtsy. “I believe my father’s steward delivered the bride price earlier today. The contract has been struck.” She’d read this once in a novel and thought the situation sounded romantic. Two strangers forced into an intimacy that neither sought, but one which must be lived. “Bride price? What the devil—” A light flashed in his eyes and he nodded. “Ah, the steward from Castle McShane. Now I remember.” A slow grin spread across his lips and he rubbed his jaw with a cupped hand. “Didn’t I negotiate for horses as well?” Jazzy thrilled at his acceptance of the role. She kept her chin lowered, making short glances from the sides of her eyes. “I am doing as I was bade. I know nothing of the finances, sir. How may I address you? As Laird MacCallum or by your given name, Logan?” “I prefer Mac.” He rolled to his side and supported his head with his hand, the movement pulling the sheet below his waist. Tanned skin and taut muscle rippled above the white cotton. Her chin came up and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his muscled abdomen with its sprinkling of wiry, black hair. The memories of his hard body rubbing against hers were too fresh. Anticipation 42

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grew, flushing her skin and making her tingle all over. Sudden heat bloomed between her thighs and she pressed them together. “Ah, the maiden likes what she sees?” A husky chuckle sounded. “I appreciate that in a woman.” Caught! She closed her eyes for a moment to help clear her thoughts. Staring was not the proper action of a blushing maiden. How should she act? Too many nights had passed since she’d first come untouched to a man’s bed for her to remember. But that might not be the way of this playacting. Her memories of her first time were not pleasant. With resolve, she stepped next to the bed and relaxed her arms, letting the cloth unwind. “Does the laird wish to inspect the goods offered in the contract?” Without anchoring, the coverlet’s weight slowly dipped lower and teased him with a glimpse of her breasts. “I contracted for a blushing bride, but you seem too sure of your actions to still be a maiden.” She stilled. He was right! She tilted her head and let her hair slide along her cheek, partially obscuring her face. “Aye, my la—Mac. Some may see it that way.” She shrugged and the sheet slipped another inch, one nipple peeking over the edge. “Father spent most of his time with my older brothers and let Nanny Erskina raise my sisters and me as she wished. My nanny trained us all to the ways of the marriage bed.” “She did?” Slade’s hungry gaze followed the coverlet’s descent and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “From the steward’s description, I thought you’d be taller.” She sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to stop the playacting. He’d better be kidding because she hated being called short. “I assure you, sir, my height is quite adequate.” With a wriggle of her shoulders, the coverlet fell in a heap at her feet. She slid a knee onto the mattress and leaned forward on her hands, being sure her breasts plumped between her arms. Too many minutes had passed in the talking part. 43

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Her hands itched to get to the doing and touching. But that wasn’t what a maiden would do. “I must rely on you to tell me what you like.” His expression stiffened, his eyes dark and smoldering, then he flashed her a slow grin. “I like your hands on me.” That would be easy. She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and blew short breaths on them, then rubbed them briskly until they warmed. With slow movements, she ran her fingers along his shoulder and down his arm to the crook of his elbow. Blocked by the odd angle of his body, she pressed against his shoulder until he dropped back on the mattress. She liked the way he was going along with her game. “My sisters at the castle have instructed me in many ways to provide pleasure. I have been told my hands are quite skillful.” She massaged a firm shoulder and worked the muscles of his bicep, alternating between deep pushes and gentle caresses. “Can’t deny that.” A groan rumbled in the back of his throat. At the sound, her hands stilled. She was giving pleasure to a man without her hands being anywhere close to his groin. This was another first and Jazzy fought to keep hold on her heart. Too easily, Slade’s words or deeds brought out tender feelings, ones she couldn’t hope to have returned by an honest businessman like him. A finger ran along her jaw. “Hey, pretty lady, why’d you stop?” “Thinking of what I’ll do next.” She dipped her chin so he couldn’t read anything in her expression. She could not let on how important this night was. “Would you like me to rub your back?” “I’d rather you put your hands somewhere else.” At the roguish look in his eye, she glanced toward his waist and saw the sheet was raised several inches off his lower body. Playacting or not, she was impressed. “Um, Mac…” She had to bite her lip to hold in a sigh. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 44

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“Miss Aileana.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down to his body. “This is where I want your hands.” He angled his hips and rubbed his cock against her hand. The moment of decision. In her head, Jazzy wanted to keep this coy game going. To feel again the excitement of gentle glances and virginal touches. To forget all the men from her past who’d crossed the threshold of Room 13 at Miss Veronica’s. To pretend they’d gained more from their time spent with her, more than the use of her body in exchange for a few coins. Again, Slade pressed against her hand. His throaty rumble sounded low and needy. Heat radiated on her palm. Every cell in her body cried out for what she knew this virile man could give her. Had given her. Her hand inched under the sheet and closed around his engorged cock, one finger at a time. Old habits almost moved her hand into a quick, pumping action. But she released her grip and ran feathery strokes along the impressive length. Tonight was different. “I’m sorry I did not ask for a bath to be prepared, my laird. Nanny Erskina taught us the simple pleasures the act of bathing can produce.” “No water here,” he spoke through gritted teeth. From under lowered eyelids, she watched a muscle in his jaw jerk and shifted her weight on the bed. “I could run down to the kitchen and fetch some.” He clamped a hand on her wrist and held tight. “The woman who is to be my wife does not fetch.” At his possessive touch, a thrill ran through her and beaded her nipples. A twinge low in her abdomen distracted her for a moment and she felt compelled to gaze directly into his eyes. A flush heated her skin at the hunger in his gaze. “I wish to please you, Mac. Simply tell me how.” 45

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“Touch me.” She was helpless not to obey his command. Her core throbbed in expectation and she squirmed. How long could she deny what her body ached for? Starting at his knees, she ran her hands up the outside of his legs, then drew them to the inside of his thighs before tracing a path to his knees. “Ah, Aileana, your hands are so soft.” Had his voice trembled a bit? She ran her hands up his legs, enjoyed the rough texture of crisp hair, and anchored them on his hips. “With your permission, I must get closer.” He cleared his throat. “Please do, miss.” Like mounting a horse, she slung her leg over and straddled both his legs. She lowered her bottom to lightly rest on his thighs, but kept most of her weight on her knees. Her hands moved along his stomach and over his chest, caressing with small circles and long strokes. The sensation of her sensitive palms gliding over his firm skin made her aware of every inch of his body. The roughness of the hair on his chest, the leathery skin of his shoulders that had seen too much sun, and the puckered skin along his ribs on his left side. Her fingers gently explored and she leaned closer to get a better look. “Is this a scar from a gunshot?” His muscles tightened. “Part of the job.” A terseness in his tone drew her gaze. She glanced at the blank expression he’d retreated behind—pinched nostrils, tense jaw, and narrowed gaze. “Did it hurt?” “Mostly it burned. Jazzy—” “Aileana.” Her finger ran one last circle around the scar. “Right…Aileana. I don’t want to talk about this now.” “I know.” With one last glance at his glare, she leaned forward and kissed the uneven skin on his side, then dragged the tips of her hair 46

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along his belly. Planting kisses on his stomach and chest, she scooted up his legs until her pussy lips pressed against his erection. Strong hands clamped onto her hips and pulled her closer against him. “I don’t want to talk at all.” She straightened her back, unable to hide her smile. Her hands trailed along his sides, across his abdomen and played with the springy curls in his groin. “I can tell.” Slowly, one hand closed around his cock, tugging gently, and the other rubbed a circle around the ridge of its head. His hips surged and pushed against her movements. “That’s how I want to be touched.” For an instant, she heard the echoes of many other voices and her movements faltered. This had to be different. She had to make this time unique. She didn’t know exactly why, but she knew her heart would break if this turned out to be just another encounter. “And that’s how I want to touch you, Mac.” “I want inside you.” Oooh, the man was direct. She laid her thumb at the base of his penis and pressed with short half-circles. A low groan sounded. “Um, I like that.” With alternating hands, she stroked his cock until it pointed almost straight up, its head becoming a deep red. A drop of pearly liquid oozed and she rubbed it with a circling thumb. “Ah. I like that too.” His voice was whisper soft. Just watching her hands as they caressed his cock made her pussy drip. No longer could she deny what her body ached for. She rose on her knees and hovered over his groin, waiting for him to look up. Once his gaze met hers, she slowly lowered herself onto his cock, savoring the heat as she stretched to accommodate his girth. “Finally. Damn, that feels good.” 47

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She anchored her hands on his shoulders and rocked her hips, feeling his thighs below her bottom stiffen. “Is the bride tall enough for your satisfaction, sir?” His eyes widened and a corner of his mouth tilted up. “Aye, and she has all the right parts.” Jazzy’s core tightened and her breasts ached to be stroked. Could she keep up the game and ask for what she needed?

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CHAPTER 5

From outside the window came the raucous caw of a grackle. Jazzy groaned and inched open an eye. Gray light filtered through the dusty window. An unaccustomed weight around her middle had her trapped. She shoved at the tangled bedclothes and her hand touched warm skin. Well-muscled skin. With a furring of hair. Heart pounding, she yanked back her hand. Slade! Ohmigod, she’d let him stay the night. In her bed…the entire night. In all her years of entertaining men, not once had she allowed herself to fall asleep while a customer was still in the room. Although, before last night, not once had her body been satisfied enough to fall asleep. Still, Ben’s reminder knock would have come in handy last night. Slade wasn’t exactly a customer, but she ignored that itty-bitty fact. Her mind raced at how their playacting had disappeared into the 49

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hottest coupling she’d ever known. What excuse could she possibly use to explain her behavior? How could she salvage her reputation? At least, everyone’s idea of her good reputation. Could he still look on her kindly if he knew she’d only wanted a bit of fun on her own terms? Images of the previous night’s romping entered her mind. Her core tingled with a pleasurable ache and she stifled a grin. Slade as the aggressor. Her straddled across his lap. The time he’d taken her hard, fast and against the wall. Sure as the morning dew, she’d shot to smithereens any thoughts he had of her as a genteel young lady. Anxiety bit at her stomach. Had he taken her for the parlor lady she used to be? Or, judging by her wanton behavior, still was? At that unsettling thought, hot tears bit at the back of her eyes. Why should she care? She had plenty of adventures ahead. The bird’s cry came again and Slade’s arm around her waist tightened, pulling her against his warm chest. The heat of his body invaded hers, as if trying to bend her to his will. A heady thrumming beat along her skin. Lordy, she wanted him again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d turn her body into his embrace and beg him to take her. Right here, right now. But Slade didn’t fit into her plan. Jessimay Morgan was starting a new life, one where she made all the choices. She inhaled a quick breath and tried to ease toward the edge of the mattress. His splayed hand clamped onto her hip. “’Morning, Jessimay.” His raspy words tickled her neck. “Is that the nightingale on yon pomegranate tree?” “Yon pome what? What are you talking about?” She stiffened and whispered over a suddenly dry tongue. “Are you even awake? It’s just a plain ole grackle.” Slade rolled her flat on her back, gave her a sleepy-eyed grin, then nuzzled her neck with his warm lips. “I was quoting from Shakespeare.” 50

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She angled her head to give him better access to the sensitive skin on her neck. “Huh?” “A play. Young lovers argue over a birdcall that reveals their time together is nearly over.” “Oh.” A play? That meant he was highbrow educated. Regret at not finishing her time in Miss Cavendar’s schoolroom flooded her. “Fancy words from a play won’t stop dawn from comin’.” No doubt about it. They wouldn’t go together any better than burlap and silk. “Best hotfoot over to your own room before anyone catches sight of you sneaking out of mine.” He rose up on an elbow and gazed openly at her exposed skin, a gleam heating his gaze. She grabbed at the sheet and yanked it up to her chin. Only her highest paying customers saw her totally naked. She winced at her instinctive reaction. Slade was not a customer. Rosy-tinted light streamed through the window. He lifted his head and squinted at the brightening room. “Jeez, it was a lark. Morning’s almost here.” He threw back the sheet and pushed himself off the bed. The mattress dipped and bounced with his shifting weight. Jazzy turned on her side and snuggled a crooked arm into the pillows. Toned muscles flexed as he stooped to collect his union suit and trousers. The view was irresistible. As he buttoned the trousers’ fly, he looked around the room for the rest of his clothes, a frown wrinkling his brow. His gaze met hers and quickly slid away. “I’m sorry, Jazzy.” Breath caught in her chest and burned. Their night together had been so fine, wild and at the same time the tenderest encounter she’d ever had. They wouldn’t have another, but she couldn’t bear to hear his apology. She struggled to harden her heart and told herself to stop caring about this man’s every word. His gaze connected with hers and softened. “I never meant to stay 51

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this late. I won’t make a sound on the way out.” He scooped up his socks, stuffed them into his trouser pockets, and whispered, “Where’s my shirt?” Wanting him gone as quickly as possible, she thrust out a stiff arm and pointed. “On the chair.” Why she was getting so mad? She’d never felt like this when others gathered their clothes before skedaddlin’ out the door. “Thanks.” With rapid movements, he shoved his arms into the sleeves, then sat on the chair to pull on his boots. “Where’d my jacket get to?” “I don’t know.” Had the man gone blind during the night? “Maybe it slipped off the post.” Two strides brought him to the foot of the bed. With a hand on the mattress, he leaned down and swung his jacket upwards. It hit the bed rail with a dull, metallic clunk. The handcuffs. Jazzy’s eyes widened and her gaze sought Slade’s. Although she’d heard plenty of stories from the other ladies, those silver bracelets had been a first for her. Since they were his, she doubted the same could be said for him. His eyes had darkened to the shade of chocolate and a grin played at the corner of his mouth. He stepped to the bed, leaned close and brushed his lips on her cheek. “See you later, darlin’.” In an instant, he’d disappeared through the door and out into the hallway. Confusion hit hard and Jazzy flopped back onto the mattress. He’d called her darlin’. What had he meant? That’s what her papa had called her mama when he had that certain gleam in his eye. She blew out an exasperated breath. She’d known he intended to kiss her mouth and only at the last second had she turned away her head. Had almost let him kiss her lips. Lordy, her mind was sorely muddled around this man. 52

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*

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*

Thirty minutes later, Jazzy hesitated in the doorway of the dining room of the boardinghouse and braced herself for what might come. Her kind of luck would never let their glorious night go undetected. She scanned the room and spotted Slade standing at the window with a cup of coffee in his hand. Her heartbeat kicked up and she touched the top button on her shirtwaist, making sure it was still closed. No open collars today or someone would surely notice the love bite Slade had given her. Another first. Miss Whitfield looked up from the table and then quickly away, her fingers toying with the edge of the tablecloth. Pete nodded. “’Morning, Miss Morgan. Did you sleep all right?” Jazzy balled her hands into fists and scanned his face, checking to see if he held back a grin. His expression seemed straightforward enough. She forced a smile before answering in a cheery voice, “Right as rain, Pete.” Slade turned and connected with her gaze, his brows pulled down over his eyes. He took one step toward the table, then stopped, and turned his attention back to the window. Ella breezed in from the kitchen. “’Morning, miss. Here’s hot biscuits. Coffee’s in the middle of the table. Fried ham and eggs will be out in two minutes.” Jazzy slid into a chair opposite the blue-speckled coffee pot and poured some of the steaming liquid into a crockery mug. Sipping the rich brew, she relaxed. No one had found them out. She reached for a biscuit and bit into its fluffy warmth. Trying not to be obvious, she allowed her gaze to move around the room. Blue-and-white gingham curtains accented walls painted a cheery yellow. The navy tablecloth was faded at the edges, but clean. As much as she hated to admit the fact, she’d hoped to talk with Slade. Although what she would say to the man in the presence of others was 53

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still a mystery. Ella set platters of sizzling ham and eggs in the middle of the table. Jazzy inhaled the savory aromas and sighed. Her appetite was as big as the Texas sky after last night’s gyrations. The roomers reached to serve their food, but Slade didn’t join them. Subdued conversation buzzed around her. The front door opened, jingling the small bell overhead. The thud of heavy footsteps preceded a tall man into the room. “Good morning, folks.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jazzy saw Slade straighten, take a step closer to the table and set down his mug. She glanced at the newcomer and her breath caught in her throat. The confident stance of a lawman— shoulders thrown back, shiny star on his vest, feet spread wide—always affected her. Worry settled in her stomach, but she fought to keep her expression blank. Ella walked into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why, Sheriff Simmons, I’m surprised to see you. Is Cathleen ill? Are you here to eat?” “’Morning, Ella.” The sheriff lifted his hat from his head and held it in his hand. “She’s fine, thank you. I’m here on business.” Jazzy shot a look across the room, but Slade’s attention was focused on the sheriff. A rustling of petticoats sounded from beside her, but she ignored everything except what the sheriff would say next. “Folks,” the sheriff started, then reached into his jacket pocket for a piece of paper, “I’ve got something here that I want to talk—” Her mouth gone dry, Jazzy gripped the edge of the table. Oh no, had Tucker wired ahead to get this sheriff to detain her? She couldn’t bear Slade seeing the wire first. Slade crossed the floor and stuck out his right hand. “Sheriff Simmons, the name’s Slade Thomas. I wonder if we might have a word in private.” 54

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The sheriff’s forehead wrinkled with his frown. “Sir, I’ve got business with these passengers.” Slade nodded and swept his hand to include the group. “Their meal has just been served. Why not talk with me first? They’ll be finished eating and ready to speak with you when we’re done.” A tense moment passed as two strong-minded men exchanged stares. Jazzy couldn’t figure out what Slade was doing. What did a proper businessman need with a lawman? Ella crossed to the men. “Sheriff, take Mr. Thomas into the front parlor. Let my customers eat their meal while it’s still hot.” She waved them into the hallway and turned to the table with a wide smile. “Eat up, y’all. I want my cooking enjoyed like it’s meant to be eaten.” The others around the table spoke in hushed whispers as they worked on their meals. Jazzy ignored their supposings and tried to swallow a bite of egg past the lump in her dry throat. What were the men talking about? Deep in her gut, she knew what they spoke on would cross tracks with her future. The food quickly disappeared. And all the while, she strained for the sound of the sheriff’s departure and fretted about what would happen when she and Slade spoke again. The embarrassed looks, the shuffled feet, the cleared throats. Judging by his haste in leaving her room, Slade Thomas was probably no different from any other man she’d ever known. They wanted every little bit of her time and attention in the moonlight, but barely gave a nod of greeting in the daylight. From another room, a clock started to chime. Pete tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. “Fifteen minutes, folks. We’ll be rollin’ at quarter past the hour.” She shook away thoughts of Slade and willed herself to think only of her plan for her future. Her hand crept to the pockets of money 55

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hidden in her skirts and her resolve deepened. With her precious savings, she was free to start a new life. And this time, the choice of how she earned her money was hers and hers alone. Jessimay Morgan counted only on herself…and no man, not even Slade Thomas, was going to change that. *

*

*

Across the street from the boardinghouse, Slade leaned against an awning support and watched the stagecoach. He counted himself lucky the sheriff had deferred to the jurisdiction of the US marshal’s office on the bank robber case. Not all law enforcement individuals Slade had met were as reasonable. The minute he’d finished with the sheriff and headed back toward the chatter of voices in the dining room, he’d known he couldn’t make polite conversation around a breakfast table— not after last night with Jazzy. He’d used the back hallway to exit through the kitchen, grabbing a handful of Ella’s biscuits and an apple before scooting out into the fresh air. His actions from the previous night weighed heavily. He’d had a suspect in hand, bound in the iron grips of justice, and he’d released her from those metal restraints. That had never happened before. Shouldn’t have happened. Nor could he let it happen again. Of course, none of the criminals he’d ever taken in had eyes bluer than Texas bluebonnets, hair the color of Kansas prairie grass that rippled in golden waves, or lips redder than Indian paintbrushes. He rolled his eyes. Jesus, man! He’d gone as poetic as a schoolboy in knee britches. Plus he’d recited Shakespeare to the woman. But more than her good looks and fetching smile, she had an unbounded and irresistible spirit. Not only had she been delightfully adventurous under the sheets, willing to try whatever he suggested, but she’d aroused him like no other woman before had even come close. He’d never forget the way she’d come apart at the touch of his hand. Uncrossing his boots, he moved his legs apart on the warped boards 56

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of the sidewalk to ease the pressure in his groin. No good would come from getting himself fired up with heated memories of their late-night romps. Today’s travel would prove trying enough without having to hide his vigorous physical reaction to the sweet Miss Morgan. Pete exited the boardinghouse and walked to the head of the team, a hand patting the horses as he moved. He scratched the lead horse’s forehead and started checking the harnesses. Slade stepped into the packed dirt of the roadway, eyed the street for early morning wagons or riders, and quickly crossed. “’Mornin’, Pete. Can I help?” Pete turned and smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening into crevasses. “Howdy, Slade. I’m superstitious about checking the tack myself. But I wouldn’t stop ya from loading the baggage.” Slade walked around to the back of the coach, grabbed his case from under a bench and loaded it in the box. As the other passengers stepped onto the sidewalk, he grabbed their satchels and fitted them on the top rack as best he could, watching the females with renewed interest. Jazzy was the last to exit the building and their gazes tangled for only a moment. A hesitant smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she tugged at the dress’s collar. He smiled, dipped his chin and let his gaze take in the woman from head to toe. Damn, the dress she wore was all tucked in and buttoned up and had her looking as virtuous and pious as a Sunday school teacher. Where was the wanton beauty who’d filled his arms just hours ago? Could he stop himself from asking her that exact question? She took a few steps toward him, as if wanting to converse. What could he possibly say to explain his actions? He stood rooted to the spot and kept his head down, concentrating on the luggage. He wanted to assure her that he didn’t normally invade women’s bedrooms. But raising that subject could brew questions about why he had been there 57

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in the first place. He couldn’t afford to tip her off about being a robbery suspect in his investigation. Not before he knew for sure, before he found the needed proof. The scent of jasmine he’d forever link to Jazzy drifted to his nostrils, sparking simultaneous aches in his heart and points south. In that moment, he was sure he couldn’t preserve either of their reputations if he had to ride for hours looking at her. Each whiff of her perfume would remind him of every body part with that scent he’d kissed. The torment could drive him crazy! He needed time and room to think. “Hey, Pete, mind if I ride up top? I’d like seeing the countryside today.” From the corner of his eye, he spotted the snap of Jazzy’s blonde head and thought he saw disappointment drop her mouth open. In an instant, she squared her shoulders and marched into the coach, skirts swishing behind her like an angry rattler. Not the hardest decision he’d ever made, but maybe the smartest. Without a doubt, the safest.

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CHAPTER 6

Slade’s snub hurt, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. Jazzy ducked her head and stepped up into the darkened stagecoach. After a quick glance at the other passengers, she flounced into the nearest corner. From outside, Pete called, “Hup!” to the horses and the coach lurched into motion. The jerky movement forced her forward and she grabbed onto the doorframe to keep from sliding off the seat. Being forced to ride facing backwards was one more thing she could heap on Slade’s shoulders. If she hadn’t dawdled over her breakfast hoping to catch a word with him, she would have had a better seat choice. With a yank, she straightened her skirts, wishing her rampant feelings were as easy to control. Jaw clamped tight with irritation, she muttered with each movement. “How dare he!” She ran a hand down the skirt front. “Just like all the others,” she groused, and tucked the puffy petticoat under 59

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her saying, “With hardly a howdy-do.” With surreptitious movements, she checked for her precious stash of coins. “Excuse me, Miss Morgan. Are you speaking to me?” At the sound of Mrs. Harrington’s voice, Jazzy’s head snapped up, and she looked at the amused gazes turned her way. She forced her lips into a strained smile. “I’ve got a little ol’ bee in my bonnet, but nothing for y’all to worry about.” “Well, if it has anything to do with the state of last night’s accommodations, I’d have to agree.” Mrs. Harrington shook her head and lifted her nose even higher than usual in the air. “That was the lumpiest mattress I’ve slept on in years.” At the woman’s mention of a mattress, Jazzy’s thoughts flashed to the previous night. As mad as she was, she couldn’t stop from thinking of the fun and games that had taken place in her room. Or of her and Slade’s naked bodies moving over every square inch of her mattress. And the last thing she’d been paying attention to was if the mattress was lumpy or sagging or hard. “And the bed frame screeched like a banshee.” She sighed heavily, lifting a hand to push at a stray lock of hair. “I heard that horrible sound every time Miss Whitfield or I turned over. I tell you my nerves are frayed this morning.” Jazzy stilled. Had the bed in her room made noise? Had she and Slade announced their lovemaking with squeaks from her iron bed frame? She closed her eyes and her mind instantly filled with images of Slade’s tanned skin, muscles, and dark hair. Such a handsome man. All Jazzy remembered were the uneven breaths and exclamations of a healthy man and woman enjoying the ages-old rhythmic dance of lovers. “Miss Morgan? Did you hear my question?” Jazzy stiffened and shook her head to dispel the pictures. “I’m sorry, I…my mind wandered, Mrs. Harrington. What did you say?” 60

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Mrs. Harrington frowned and peered closer. “My, my, you do look tired. You must have spent a sleepless night, too.” Jazzy forced her immediate giggle into an exaggerated yawn, hoping the woman would quit talking. Rather than listening to Mrs. Harrington’s petty complaints, Jazzy had to make a plan. She needed to figure out what she could possibly say to Slade that would keep him from realizing what her behavior said about her past. No matter how much fun they’d had in that upstairs boardinghouse bedroom, those kind of games were part of her past and didn’t fit with her future. When she left Miss Veronica’s Pleasure Emporium, she’d vowed to hold her behavior to a higher moral standard. She wanted to learn to be a proper lady—one who would blend in with the working people of a friendly town. Last night had been a stumble backwards, but she was the one in control of her own life once again. Now that she knew Slade wouldn’t acknowledge her with the same courtesy he gave other women, he could die hoping for a repeat performance. Even if she still yearned for the man who’d become so special in just one night. “Did you see the handbill Pete had?” Jazzy pinched her leg as punishment for letting her thoughts stray again. With a sigh, she turned her head toward the insistent woman and brought her attention to the present. “Handbill? I don’t believe I did.” Mrs. Harrington leaned forward, squirming with excitement. “Actually, it was a wanted poster.” The small boy on the bench next to the woman looked up, his blue eyes shining. “I seed it and told Mama. It was fer a wady wobber.” “Chester, Mother was speaking.” Mrs. Harrington drew the boy closer to her side and covered his mouth. “Little boys are to be seen and not heard.” The coach bumped into a rut and jostled the occupants against one another. Apologies murmured all around. 61

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“A lady robber?” Dread tightened her stomach and Jazzy glanced at the other passengers, who all nodded in agreement. “I didn’t know.” Mr. Denton cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the coach floor. “I’ve never heard of such impudence! What is the world coming to when women don’t know their proper place?” Sarah Whitfield settled her handbag more securely at her side. “I wonder if that’s why the sheriff stopped by. Maybe he’d intended to speak with us, but was distracted by whatever business Mr. Thomas needed to discuss.” These were the longest sentences Jazzy had heard Sarah speak. Obviously, this was big news. “Did he tell you why he was interested?” Sarah sniffed and shrugged. “Something about a resemblance to the robber’s description and drawing.” Annoyance shot through Jazzy. Not only did she not get to see and speak to Slade, but she’d obviously missed something mighty interesting. Maybe that explained why Slade had chosen to ride outside. He could be getting additional information from Pete. She leaned back and contemplated what this could all mean, bouncing against the coach wall with each bump in the road. “Folks,” Pete’s shout interrupted. “Trouble’s acomin’.” Jazzy lifted the shade and peered out, but all she saw were mesquite bushes, reddish dirt and plenty of rocks. A dark figure brushed past the window and bumped against the side of the coach. “Who?” She gasped and shrank back. The door was wrenched open, letting in a dusty breeze. Slade dropped onto the middle bench, his hat gripped in a hand. “Well,” Mrs. Harrington gasped. “I never—” “Listen. All of you.” Slade bit off his words and his scowl silenced the passengers. Jazzy couldn’t take her gaze off him. A muscle jumped in his 62

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clenched jaw and his mouth was drawn into a thin line. His forceful gaze shifted between the shade he held away from the door and the people inside the coach. The man crouched just inches away was almost a stranger, yet she knew him intimately. His tightly held body, ready for action, seemed so different from the languid man she’d shared a bed with the night before. “Riders approaching from the west.” Urgency clipped his words. “Three, maybe four, and they’re coming fast.” Sarah’s hand crept to her throat. “What does this mean?” Jazzy didn’t need an explanation. Her money! Slowly and as if it moved on its own, Jazzy’s hand went to the line of pockets she’d sewn into her petticoats and fingered her cache of coins. She’d sacrificed five years of her life for this money and she couldn’t lose it. Not when it represented her chance for a new life. Slade’s alert gaze followed her movements and one dark eyebrow quirked. His eyes held a question. For an instant, her hand froze, then she smoothed her wrinkled skirt. Well, at least he was looking her in the eye again. As much as she told herself to ignore it, she couldn’t fight back a trill of excitement. He turned away, his gaze scanning the people leaning toward him. “If there’s trouble, do what you’re told and give them what they want.” Mrs. Harrington drew herself up. “Are you telling us these riders intend to rob us?” He gave a sharp nod. “Most likely. They’ll grab what valuables they can easily find and be gone.” “Bandits?” Sarah’s eyes were wide as she looked at the other passengers and she let out a strangled laugh. “In the desert?” Slade frowned at the suddenly pale woman and glanced at Jazzy. His dark gaze held hers, as if assuring himself she could handle what was happening. The connection between them was back, like it had been the 63

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previous night. From deep inside, she felt a growing heat, but wished she could read his expression more clearly. Was the concern in his gaze for her as a passenger, or as someone who was special? The sharp report of two gunshots sounded. Pete called out a loud, “Whoa.” The stagecoach pulled to a hasty stop, nearly tossing the rear passengers onto those in the front seat. Slade’s hand slapped at his right hip, then stopped, his eyes scanning the interior of the coach before his hand rested on his thigh. “Do any of you have a gun?” Jazzy glanced between his hand and his face and raised her eyebrows. The interior went silent as people just stared. No weapons were dug from within reticules or from inside jacket pockets. He grimaced and shook his head, then spoke in a calm, but commanding, voice, “Remember, folks, just give them whatever they want. No necklace or pocket watch is worth your safety.” Jazzy marveled at the strength in his voice. This man was used to being in charge and expected others to obey his orders. Goose flesh rose on her arms and a warm, wet thrill zapped straight to the apex of her thighs. She went weak in the knees for a man who took control. Something thumped twice against the outside of the stage and the door yanked open. Leading with a large pistol, a man with dark eyes and thick eyebrows stuck his head in the opening. A bandana covered the lower part of his face. “Get outside, form a line and keep your hands where we can see them.” He stepped back and cocked the gun’s hammer. “Hurry.” As Jazzy looked through the open door, she felt dread weigh heavily in the pit of her stomach. Three mounted riders, with guns drawn, watched in half-circle formation from twenty feet away. Their faces were covered with bandanas like the first. 64

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Definitely a bad situation. Quickly, she tumbled behind her fellow passengers—including Slade—from the coach onto the rocky soil and stood with her hands raised. Her stomach knotted. She was counting on the man of action she’d glimpsed a moment ago having a plan for getting them all out of this situation alive. Hopefully with her small savings of coins intact! Glancing up, she tried to spot her carpetbag on the top of the coach. Would they search the bags, too? Pete narrowed his gaze at her and jutted his chin, repeatedly shifting his eyes toward Slade. Why was the stage drive looking to Slade for answers? “All right, folks.” Mr. Mustache called for their attention in a gravelly voice. “We want your jewelry and your money. All of it. Rings, timepieces, necklaces…take them off and drop them in this here hat I’m passing. Do it fast and there won’t be no problems.” This was really happening. A robbery. Her mouth went bone dry and her legs trembled, threatening to give out. These despicable men, who looked like they hadn’t bathed in weeks, were trying to steal the money she worked so hard for years to earn. With shaky hands, Jazzy struggled with the clasp of the gold locket she wore. Maybe they’d be satisfied with what they took off the passengers and leave. The man paused in front of her, his gaze moving over the other people. “Give me the necklace, lady.” The nerve! This locket had cost her three nights’ wages. “Don’t rush me.” Her fingers fumbled with the clasp. The man stopped and leaned only inches from her face, his slitted gaze as cold as a snake’s. “I’m giving the orders.” The stench of sweaty male and unwashed clothes rose in her nostrils and she swallowed hard against gagging. Breathing through her mouth, she wrenched at the clasp. “It’s stuck.” The man closed his hand around the locket and yanked the chain 65

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downward. When the chain broke, his hand grazed her bust, and he leered in a yellowed, snaggle-toothed grin. Jazzy heard one of the women gasp. Although her skin crawled, she only stared at the man. She refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting to her broken necklace or to his unwanted touch. He tossed the locket in his hand and grinned. “Hey, we got us a feisty one.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick movement and sensed it was Slade. A fidgety rider urged his equally nervous horse forward. “Stand where you are, mister.” She didn’t dare lose her head of steam so she refrained from looking Slade’s way. The bandits could have her jewelry and the money in her handbag—she could manage without those. But not her savings. She had to figure out a diversion to keep them from searching her clothing. The man moved close and pointed a dirty finger toward her ears. “Now, those fancy ear things.” As he waited, his leering gaze ran over her face. Although she’d had men look at her in this impersonal way many times before, something deep inside snapped. No more would she be the victim or helpless in the face of such a man. Reaching to pull off the ear bobs, she burned his image into her memory, starting with the color of his hair, the exact shade of his eyes, and the mole on his left temple. “Like what you see, eh, sister?” “Not at all.” She held the ear bobs over the upturned hat. “I’m studying your face so I can be sure my description of you to the sheriff is accurate.” A cough sounded and she glanced to the side, instinctively knowing Slade was signaling her. 66

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Slade narrowed his gaze and shook his head once. His intense dark eyes held a warning. His hands were fisted at his sides and his body was tight and poised. The fidgety bandit on his wide-eyed horse, now just a few feet away, trained his gun on the center of Slade’s chest. She gasped and a shudder ran through her, freezing her actions. What was she doing? No jewelry was special enough to risk getting Slade injured. She could accept that they might never see one another after this stage trip, but she wouldn’t be the cause of him getting hurt. Or worse. Then the bandit grabbed her hand and twisted it to release the ear bobs. A cry of pain escaped her lips before she could bite it back. Her blood surged hot and self-preservation took over. She swore she could hear the echoes of Miss Veronica’s teachings as she stomped her boot heel on the man’s toes and jabbed an elbow against his throat. What followed was a confusion of strangled yells, high-pitched screams, threatening curses and rising clouds of dust.

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CHAPTER 7

Seeing Jazzy’s narrowed gaze and clamped jaw made Slade’s blood run cold. What the hell was that independent slip of a woman contemplating? The woman had no chance against a band of armed outlaws. She must know that. Four against one weren’t good odds. Slade had faced worse situations in his past and survived, but he’d only had to take care of himself. Pete was out of his line of sight, so he didn’t know if he could count on the driver for any assistance. Protecting the cussed little fool would be tough, but not impossible. The sound of Jazzy’s pained cry cut straight through Slade’s reasoning and he jumped into motion. Ramming a shoulder into the closest horse, he flew under the thrashing front hooves at the man who’d hurt her. “Get away, Jazzy.” Suddenly the world erupted in noise and motion. He and the bandit went down hard and tumbled on the ground, grappling for control with 68

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knees, feet and hands. Slade was taller and heavier, but this wiry man was strong. A strength that came from having to fight to stay alive. Skittish horses neighed and snorted. Nearby, hooves gouged the dry ground, tossing up great clouds of choking, powdery dust. Bitter anger over Jazzy’s pain and fear for her safety tore at him, fueling his actions. He levered up on an elbow and swung with his right fist, landing a hard punch on the bandit’s jaw. With a grunt, the man’s head snapped back and the grip on Slade’s shirt loosened. Slade rolled away from the horses and jumped to a crouch, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. On instinct, his hand moved toward his right hip. Damn, he missed the familiar weight of his revolver. He felt naked without it. He looked through the swirling clouds for Jazzy. There, against the outline of the coach, was a darker shadow he figured must be the passengers. Instantaneous relief calmed his thoughts. She was safe, at least for the moment. His boot stubbed up a fist-sized rock and he stooped to pick it up. Not his first choice of weapon, but it counted for something, and it felt better than being empty-handed. Squinting through the haze of dust, he tried to spot the positions of the mounted outlaws. “Slade!” Jazzy’s sweet voice cut through the mêlée. “Behind you!” He spun and immediately jumped back, barely avoiding being trampled by a charging horse. At the last moment, he let the rock fly and was rewarded by the sound of a solid thud and a man’s surprised curse. Quickly, he found and filled each hand with other rocks. He hated using such primitive weapons and willed himself to ignore the futility of his stand. This damned dust! He swung his arm in front of his face, hoping to clear his field of vision. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a man moving from his left, gun held at waist height as he walked. Like all the 69

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times he’d skipped stones on Dickerson’s Pond as a kid, he brought his hand to his waist, then flung the rock hard with a sideways motion. The rock knocked the gun out of the outlaw’s hand and he doubled over in pain. The second rock, thrown as hard as he could overhand, felled the man like a tree. Slade strode to the dropped pistol and scooped it up, then squared off opposite where he figured the remaining bandits were. An eerie silence fell. No bird cried, no desert animal skittered, no breeze rustled the mesquite bushes. As the choking veil of dust settled, he heard a devilish chuckle that raised the hair on the back of his neck. Advancing across the open ground was a sight that froze his movements and chilled him to the bone. A tall man, one arm crooked around Jazzy’s shoulders and the other holding a knife to her tender neck, stopped about ten feet away. They were close enough for Slade to take in every detail of the stubborn woman. She must have put up a struggle. Strands of blonde hair hung loose at the sides of her flushed face, and one sleeve was partially torn away from her jacket shoulder. Her eyes were wide with fear. The expression in their blue depths pleaded for rescue. The glint of metal against her white skin riled him until he could barely think straight. This filthy man threatened the life of a woman he held dear! He had to figure a way out of this mess. He’d downed two bandits, but another of the bastards, other than the one gripping Jazzy, still moved free and out of sight. The outlaw held Jazzy too close for Slade to draw a bead on him. He couldn’t risk a shot that wasn’t an instant kill. The guy looked like he could do deadly damage with that knife in his last seconds of life. “Toss down the gun,” rasped the tall bandit, his bandana skewed enough to reveal a bushy moustache. Slade glanced around, hoping to gauge Pete’s location and what chance he really had. He shifted his stance to scan the area near the front of the stagecoach, but still couldn’t see the driver. All he spotted 70

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were the passengers cowering near the back wheels, the women with handkerchiefs to their faces. Had Pete found a hiding place and was even now tracking the bandits in his rifle sights? Was he just waiting for the right time to pick off this guy? The fact he hadn’t given a signal persuaded Slade not to count on help from that corner. “I said ditch the weapon.” The man’s voice was colder and he yanked his arm tighter around Jazzy’s chest. “Or I spill this pretty lady’s blood.” Jazzy stretched away from the knife, but remained alert and silent. Her mouth was twisted into a tight line. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes and Slade watched as she blinked to keep them from falling. Fiery anger and icy determination warred for dominance of his thoughts. The fact Jazzy was in serious danger burned in his belly. He would make these men pay for what they’d put her through. But cold reason screamed at Slade not to give up the weapon that represented his only chance. He looked into her eyes and she stared back, belief in him shining through her fear. Suddenly, he was transported to the previous night and the heat of passion he’d seen in her eyes. What they’d shared was special and he refused to let that go without a fight. He narrowed his gaze, trying to send her a message to stay calm, that he’d figure a way out. “Tell us what you want. Maybe we can work out a deal.” The man snorted. “Don’t need no deal. We’re taking what we want and this here knife’s our guarantee.” Sweat pooled on Slade’s forehead and dripped along his temples. Refusing to show weakness, he resisted swiping at his face with his sleeve. Where the hell was Pete? Without back up, Slade doubted his chances and this guy didn’t look like he wanted to bargain. “You grabbed the valuables, so clear out.” He waved his gun in the direction of the open desert, wishing he could signal Jazzy to go limp and drop to 71

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the ground. All he needed was one clear shot to take down this guy. The bandit bristled and took a step forward, dragging Jazzy along. “Big talk for a man all alone.” “I’ve already knocked out two of your buddies.” Slade eyed the distance between the two of them and wondered if he dared try to rush the guy. “José? Jimmy John?” With a hasty glance around the area, the bandit’s brows lowered. “Hellfire, Ralph’s horse ran off again.” He glanced over his shoulder at his fallen friends, then quickly back. “Move this way, blondie.” Jazzy fisted her hands at her sides and planted her feet, her gaze imploring Slade to do something. Damn, he hated not being able to offer her a word of encouragement. His fingers itched to pull the trigger, but he couldn’t risk hitting her or not killing her captor instantly. He forced his words out through a throat dry with frustration. “Do what he says.” His eyes told her, You’ll be all right. The outlaw pulled her further away until he’d reached his partners and nudged them with his boot. “Out cold. We’ll need the stage to carry them.” At his words, Jazzy stiffened and shifted her weight, her expression mutinous. Dread clamped hard in his stomach. Slade spotted her movement and stifled a curse. Did the crazy woman think she could escape? He narrowed his gaze, trying to warn her not to do anything stupid. The man’s dark eyes flicked to the side and back, his expression blank. Slade froze and listened hard, straining to hear the sound of someone approaching from a direction he couldn’t see. Nothing. He couldn’t risk taking his eyes off the knife at Jazzy’s pristine neck. If he did, he feared he’d never see it that soft white flesh unscathed again. 72

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She leaned forward, straining against her captor’s hold. A moment later came a gritty scrape and a whisper of movement from behind him. Slade tensed and twisted toward the sound, gun ready at his waist. All he saw was a blur of darkness before the blow hit his temple, forcing bright lights to bounce through his head before they faded to gray. His knees buckled and he pitched to the ground, struggling to fight the inevitable. Stay strong, Jazzy. Then blackness embraced him. *

*

*

At the sight of Slade’s body crumpled on the dirt, Jazzy sagged against her captor’s grasp. Disappointment dulled her senses and she barely noticed the sting of the knife on her neck. Slade had been their only hope of getting out of this mess. “Check if he’s breathing.” Gruff words sounded from directly behind, and the man shoved her away from his body. She stumbled forward, a growing unease weighing down her limbs. Slade hadn’t moved since the bandit had crept up from behind and cracked him in the head with the butt of his gun. Don’t be dead, Slade. Dropping to her knees next to his prone form, she saw his neck and shirt collar were coated with blood. Her lungs tightened and she swallowed hard against a nervous stomach that threatened to upend. She hated the sight of blood. Fighting to keep her voice even, she glanced over her shoulder. “There’s b-blood everywhere.” She wished for the time to tend his wound, but knew that wouldn’t be allowed. “Don’t take all day. Just listen for his breathing.” A raspy laugh erupted from under the mustache. “I sure as hell don’t need a murder charge on my hands.” “Give me a minute. I never did this afore.” Her throat felt as dry as the dirt that clung to the hem of her skirts. Please don’t be dead. She drew in a deep breath and stared at this man who had become special to 73

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her in just a short time. Her gaze carefully avoided the injury on his head. His strong, muscled shoulders, normally so active, now lay slack. She stared at the dark eyebrows so capable of telegraphing his moods— now disturbingly still. For the first time, she noticed his nose must have been broken sometime earlier in his life. His firm lips that changed in the blink of an eye from a teasing half grin to a menacing grimace were parted and relaxed. Unable to resist touching him—praying this time wouldn’t be the last—she rested a hand between his shoulders and braced her other hand on the dirt. Under her fingers, his body was firm and warm. She leaned close to his face until she could hear the slow, steady whoosh of his breathing. He was alive! A wave of intense relief loosened her chest and she could breathe deeply. A strand of her loosened hair fell against his cheek and she whispered, “I’ve a notion they’re fixin’ to take us away. Watch for my clues along the way and please find us.” Her throat drew tight from thoughts of what was to come. She brushed her fingertips along the line of his shoulder. “I need you, Slade.” “Hey, blondie, is he alive or ain’t he?” an impatient voice called out. The crunch of approaching footsteps propelled Jazzy to her feet. Her gaze clung to a last look at Slade’s features, heart aching for his pain and praying this wasn’t the last time she’d ever see him. “No murder charge this time. He’s breathing.” She spun and marched across the clearing toward the coach, not sparing a sideways look toward the man who’d threatened her. Once she was among the other passengers, she ran her gaze over the group and noted they were pale and frightened, but unhurt. Dipping her knees, she pretended to adjust the laces on her boot and scanned the ground on the other side of the coach wheel for Pete’s legs. She’d seen him fall in the early moments of the fight and hoped, by now, he’d 74

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recovered enough to lend a hand. He lay in a heap and wasn’t moving. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized they were in the same position as before. Was the poor man mortally wounded? “This is the way it’s gonna be.” The one who seemed to be the leader stood five feet away, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun. “You old man and the kid, move away from the coach. Women, you’ll be joining us fer a ride.” A choked sob sounded from the other women. “My boy!” Mrs. Harrington clasped a hand on her breast and cried. “Chester has to come with me.” A scowl wrinkled his brows and the bandit brandished his gun in their direction. “Get in the coach, lady. Believe me, where we’re going is no place fer a kid.” With an arthritic hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, Mr. Denton straightened his back and looked up. “I’ll watch out for him, ma’am.” Jazzy huffed out a pent-up breath. The men would look after Slade—he’d be safe. She climbed the coach steps and dropped into the closest corner, so she could still see Slade’s body, willing him to waken. If he did, he’d figure a way to keep the group together. Miss Whitfield cowered on the opposite bench, arms wrapped around her satchel and a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. “What is to become of us?” “I won’t leave my son.” The coach swayed as Mrs. Harrington braced her arms across the door opening. Sarah dropped the handkerchief and leaned forward. “Prudence, you must listen to them.” “Get inside, lady, and stop your caterwauling.” The man’s voice was strained. “Chester. My boy.” A struggling Mrs. Harrington was pushed onto the coach floor and the door slammed. “No! I can’t leave my son.” “You don’t have a choice.” Jazzy leaned forward and grabbed the 75

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frantic woman’s arm, guiding her to a seat. “Mr. Denton will watch out for him.” As she spoke, she honestly didn’t know if she meant Chester or Slade. The stage lurched into motion and Jazzy stuck her head out the window for a final glimpse of Slade. Chester and Mr. Denton kneeled at his side, probably trying to rouse him. Then the stagecoach turned and all she saw were rocks, red dirt and creosote bushes. She turned to the women across from her. “Okay, ladies, we’re on our own.” “Oh, we’ll be raped,” Sarah wailed. Jazzy narrowed her gaze. “There’s worse things.” Sarah’s head jerked as if she’d been slapped. “What’s worse than that?” “Getting killed.” With a squeal, Miss Whitfield’s eyes rolled backwards and she fainted, banging her head against the side of the coach. Mrs. Harrington scooted to the side and eased the woman across the bench, then shot a dark look at Jazzy. “Must you be so blunt? I swear you have the worst manners—” “Got no time for manners, Mrs. Harrington. The three of us”—she eyed the inert form of Sarah Whitfield with a questioning look—“make that the two of us have to come up with a plan or else we’re dead.” Jazzy leaned her elbows on her knees and held out her open hand in front of the older, panicked woman. “We’re being held against our will.” She tapped her thumb as if counting down. “We’re in a stagecoach headed to unknown parts of the southern frontier.” Tapped a finger. “Could be headed to Mexico for all I know.” Tapped another finger. “And our escorts have little or no scruples.” Prudence Harrington pinched her lips together. “What about my poor Chester?” “I’m sorry for your son, but we’re the ones being hauled away to hell-and-gone.” Didn’t this woman have the slightest idea of what men 76

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like these bandits might do to helpless women? Most likely not. Jazzy figured she was the one with the most experience dealing with men and their attitudes. The responsibility of what she knew to be true pulled at her. The planning had to be hers and hers alone. She scooted into the corner of the coach and lifted her skirt to the knee. Starting at the side seam of her emerald silk petticoat, she used the fingernail of her pinky finger to loosen the stitches. With twisting pulls, she tore strips of the fabric, stuffed most in her reticule and dropped a few out the side window. She tried to convince herself Slade had a small chance of finding these clues. Until she glanced outside and spotted green cloth half-buried in the red Texas dirt. That small chance shrunk to a nigh-on impossibility.

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CHAPTER 8

After what seemed like hours of bumping over uneven ground, the coach slowed and came to a stop. Thinking up a way out of this fix was tough over the whimpers of two scared women. About all she’d come up with was the promise of more money if they were released unhurt. “Remember, ladies,” whispered Jazzy, as she leaned forward and waited for their gazes to connect with hers, “keep alert to everything around you. And stick together.” From outside came the crunch of boots approaching on the rocky soil. “I’ll git the women,” a harsh voice shouted. “Ralph, Jimmy John, you go inside and clear out any varmints that’s snuck in while we were gone.” “Right, Charley.” With a squeak, the door opened and slammed against the side of the coach. Sarah sucked in a harsh breath and Prudence clutched the other 78

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woman’s hand. A bandit stuck in his head and grinned. “You’ve arrived at the Desert Hotel.” A nasty chuckle followed his snide greeting. Jazzy squared her shoulders and glanced at the women. “I’ll go first.” She grabbed the front of her skirts and climbed down, turning to help the others. All the while, her gaze scanned the area surrounding the adobe house before them. The terrain here was rockier, with less loose dirt, and more creosote bushes than mesquite. To the west, she saw a long line of cottonwoods and wondered which river or creek they edged. Was it the Rio Grande, or were they even still in Texas? The tall leader named Charley stepped forward and swept a disdainful gaze over the group. “I hope one of you knows how to cook. We’ll be wantin’ some grub right quick. And tote those bags inside.” Jazzy stilled, willing her mouth not to smart off and put them in even more jeopardy. Prudence stepped forward, her back ramrod straight. “Surely you’re mistaken. Ladies shouldn’t be climbing on top of any stagecoach.” He narrowed his gaze, lips pressed into a hard line. “I ain’t mistaken. Unload the damn bags.” Jazzy put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “I don’t mind, Prudence. Really, I don’t. Sarah, I’ll pass them down to you.” At the sound of her name, the shaken woman blinked hard and nodded. Not wanting to get her feet tangled in her skirts, Jazzy reached between her legs, grabbed a handful of the back hem and pulled the bulk of the skirts through to the front and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt. Her petticoat had lost most of its bulk because of the strips she’d torn off, dropping out the window in hopes Slade would be able to follow their trail. She climbed into the driver’s seat and then leaned on her hands to reach the luggage box, all the while scanning the surrounding 79

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landscape. No boulders, bushes or trees obscured the view from the house outward. A rescue, if it came, would not come from those directions. A few muttered catcalls and raucous laughter erupted from the men standing in the shadow of the house. In irritation, she glanced over her shoulder. Three men! Where was the fourth? Her gaze raked the area, but she didn’t see the other. One must have slipped away to stand guard. For a moment, Jazzy stilled. She’d been around enough men speaking in those tones to know which of her body parts they were discussing. She hoisted a bag and dropped it to Sarah’s waiting hands. When she touched one of her bags, she worried about the security of her rolls of coins sewn into the bag’s bottom and selected another to unload. Her new life depended on keeping that money. With any luck, they wouldn’t find her stash. Charley grabbed a satchel away from Sarah and tossed it to one of the men, standing near the door. “Ralph, check that for loot.” Ralph yanked open the bag and upended its contents onto the ground. Out fell an assortment of men’s clothing and a leather pouch. “Hey, what’s this?” “Give it here,” Charley demanded. Ralph’s eyes flashed, but he tossed it to the man in charge. Charley holstered his gun, flicked the pouch’s clasp and looked inside. With a dark frown, he pulled out a hairbrush, shaving brush and razor. “Nothing much.” Ralph leaned over and lifted another bag. “Stop.” Mrs. Harrington stepped forward. “That belongs to my son.” Jazzy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from calling out a warning. Instead, she stared hard and tried to catch her gaze, willing the obstinate woman not to start trouble. So much for a leisurely view of all 80

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angles of their location. “Step back, lady,” Charley growled, then glanced at Ralph and jerked his chin toward the bag. “Probably nothing worth anything, but check it anyway.” He lifted a floral carpetbag from the pile near his feet and wrenched open the top. Jazzy recognized it and froze. That was one of hers. Barely stifling a groan at what they’d find, she dreaded the next few minutes. “Woo-wee. What do we have here?” Charley held out the opened bag to display frills and lace. A whistle sounded from under Jimmy John’s scraggly moustache. “Are them lady’s unmentionables?” Charley reached in a grimy hand and drew out a fistful of colorful silky undergarments. “Ain’t these mighty fine?” The bag dropped to the ground with a dull thud. He rubbed the fabric of her purple chemise through his thick fingers. With a leer, he squinted at each woman in turn. “Won’t we have fun learning which one of you owns these?” Her first instinct was to meet his assessing gaze dead on, but knew in an instant that was the wrong reaction. Damn his hide for trying to intimidate them. She needed to stay calm and buy all of them some time. Quickly, she averted her gaze and hid her fists in the folds of her skirt. She clamped her jaw and took in short breaths through her nose. “What else is in there?” Ralph stooped next to the bag and lifted out a red nightgown. “Yee hah!” Jimmy John made a grab for it. “Maybe the lady who owns this one can be convinced to show us how well it fits.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I don’t care about that,” Ralph scoffed. “I want to see what’s underneath that fancy nightie.” Jimmy John swaggered. “See? Hell, I want to feel it.” The men’s lecherous laughs rang out. Jazzy scrambled back to the driver’s seat, surprised at the heat 81

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flaming her cheeks from the men’s jeers. She wondered at the unfamiliar reaction. Why was today different? In the past, rough language hadn’t bothered her. “Hold on,” Charley’s stern voice cut through the jeers. “We ain’t decided if we’re holding the women for ransom or selling them to the bandaleros. You women, grab the bags and get in the house.” As she started down the coach’s ladder, she looked at the panicked expressions on Prudence and Sarah’s pale faces. The poor things. They were beginning to have an inkling of how bad this night could get. A hard hand grabbed her arm and yanked her down the last two steps. “You, too, into the house. Wouldn’t want you to faint from too much sun.” Off balanced, she fell against a man’s body that smelled of unwashed clothes and stale tobacco. She turned her head and looked into Charley’s cold eyes—watery blue eyes with the same empty expression as when he’d held his gun aimed at Slade. Without allowing the revulsion she felt to show in her expression, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and stepped away. “I can walk on my own.” Chin high, she marched over to the pile of baggage and filled her hands. “And your walk is real fine.” Standing nearby, Prudence’s hands drew into fists and her body stiffened. Jazzy walked close and bumped into the angry woman, forcing her to shift her gaze. “He’s looking to start trouble. Grab a bag and ignore him.” Within a few minutes, the bags sat in a heap against a wall and the women were grouped on the opposite side of the entry doorway. From her position, Jazzy could see a wall with an arch in the middle. A coarsely woven blanket hung across an opening that she assumed led to a second room, possibly a bedroom. Knowing everything about this house was essential for planning their escape. 82

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“The trip was a long one.” She cleared her throat and waved her hand to indicate all three women. “We could all use a visit to the, um”— for effect, she cast her gaze down before finishing her softspoken request—“the necessary.” “Only one of you at a time. The others, get to cookin’ some food.” Jazzy turned her back to the men and whispered, “Let me go first. I need to check the layout of the place. Besides, I haven’t cooked a meal in over five years.” She turned and headed out the door. Jimmy John fell into step, the crunch of his boots echoing hers. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I’ve been going to the necessary alone since I was a young’un. I can find it on my own.” “I’m yer escort. It’s around the back.” Jazzy stepped quickly around the side of the adobe and scanned the horizon for the fourth man who must have been posted as a guard. Nothing. She wished she’d noticed when he’d abandoned the group. Around another corner was a rickety stable and a tilting outhouse that looked like it would collapse in a stiff wind. A second door led from the back wall of the house. Her heart beat a bit faster. Finally something was going right. Once inside the outhouse, she tried not to notice how close to the door the man stood. Let Jimmy John think he was bothering her. She had more important things to ponder—like the details of an escape. Now, all she had to do was keep the situation calm until Slade showed up. Although their acquaintance was short, she knew him to be the type of man who would do all he could to find and rescue three kidnapped women. Slade wouldn’t leave her in the hands of this gang of thieves. For his part, Slade had to be well enough to ride, then get a horse, follow her path of petticoat strips, and sneak up on this house from behind to set them free. Their rescue could work exactly like that. Yeah, if this were a fairy 83

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tale. She smoothed down her skirts and opened the door to step out. Gunshots erupted from inside the house. “Come on.” The guard grabbed her arm, propelled her across the yard and through the back door. She glimpsed several beds and a crude table with a candlestick in the center. When they entered the main room, Jazzy first looked for the other women. They were across the open floor, unhurt and clutching each other, eyes wide. Waving something shiny in his hand, Charley stomped across the floor and kicked at a tin coffee cup. “I can’t believe it.” Ralph rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Was he the one who spooked my horse? And gave me this sore back?” “What’s wrong?” Jimmy John’s head moved back and forth between the angry, pacing men. “What did I miss?” “I shoulda knowed by the way he fought.” Charley made a sound deep in his throat and spat on the dirt floor in disgust. “A damned marshal!” Jazzy sucked in a breath, her chest tight. Slade was a lawman? Her knees melted to jelly and she dropped onto a nearby bench. Her Slade—the man who cared enough to undress her slowly, carefully removing each article of clothing and kissing her skin alive. The man who brought her body to the highest fever pitch she’d ever enjoyed. A marshal? The sworn enemy of parlor ladies everywhere. Her skin cooled like she stood outdoors in January during a blue norther. How could he have hidden this important fact? He’d spoken sweet words about her eyes, her hair, her body. For pity’s sake, the man recited poetry to her. Had the man who’d been so playful and attentive have another reason— Mercy! Her hand gripped the table edge and she barely registered the pain of the rough-hewn planks. He’d hinted at his identity. When 84

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he’d first put on the handcuffs, she’d teased about what game they’d play. He’d suggested the sheriff and the bank robber. But as wrapped up in the excitement as she was, she hadn’t really paid attention to his words. What a fool she’d been. He hadn’t come to her room in response to anything she’d said. He’d come because he thought she might be the woman in the wanted poster. Suddenly her blood ran hot. Slade Thomas thought she was a common thief. The nerve of that rat! *

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*

Slade trudged along one side of the bandit’s runaway horse, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. With each step, pain like a pounding hammer shot through the inside of his skull. He clenched his jaw, tasting grit in his teeth, and tried to think only about getting this pitiful group to safety. On the other side of the horse, Mr. Denton struggled to keep up with the pace Slade set. When roused by the kid and the old man, Slade’s worst suspicions had been verified. The bandits had taken the women and the stagecoach. Pete was weak from a gunshot wound high in his shoulder. The injured man was woozy and barely able to hold up his head, so Slade cinched him to the saddle horn. The boy rode behind, steadying Pete when he swayed in the saddle. He’d survive, if Slade got him to a doctor before he lost too much blood. “Pete, how’re you doing?” A long silence, then a mumbled, “I’m all right,” “Do you need a rest?” As much as he hated to lose the time, Slade had to offer. “Nah.” His voice came out through clenched teeth. “Keep going. Ain’t far now.” From directly overhead, the sun beat down on Slade’s dark hair, doubling the throbbing at the base of his skull. His shirt stuck to his 85

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skin in several places. He told himself his hand only rested on the horse’s flank in case the boy started to tumble off. Getting this group to town was his first goal. Twenty minutes later, Chester pointed toward the horizon. “Hey, mister, I see a church.” Slade squinted and spotted the rooftops of the same town they’d left that morning. Had only four hours passed since the coach had departed from the porch in front of Ella’s boardinghouse? Seemed much longer. Pete straightened and feebly grappled with the knot binding him to the saddle. “Untie this.” “Stop messing with the rope.” Slade’s words croaked from a dry throat. “Don’t want you falling off.” “I can git there from here.” Pete looked straight at him and jerked his head back behind them. “You got more important matters to tend to.” Relief cut through him at the possibility of the trip being shortened. “Are you sure?” He yanked at the rope, feeling the fibers give under his fingers. Mr. Denton came around the front of the horse, resting a hand against the horse’s shoulder. “We’ll go slow. The boy and I’ll help him.” “I’m thirsty,” whined Chester. Slade lifted the boy off the back of the horse and put a hand on Chester’s shoulder. He couldn’t imagine what thoughts the boy was having after seeing his mother abducted. “Not much longer before you’ll be sitting at Ella’s with a glass of cold milk in front of you.” He turned to help Pete slide down and braced him until his legs supported his weight. “Lean on me.” Mr. Denton slipped his arm around Pete’s back. “And Chester, you get around to Pete’s other side and let him rest a hand on your shoulder.” 86

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They hesitated, watching Slade for a reaction. He coiled the rope and slung it over the saddle horn. Fearful of what the exertion would cause, he clamped his jaw and swung his leg over the horse. White light flashed behind his eyes and his stomach roiled with nausea. For several moments, he felt his heart pounding in his ears, then the sound faded. Leaning an arm on the saddle horn, he looked at the three figures before him. They looked shakier than the last maple leaf dangling from the branch at the onset of winter. Could he really leave them on their own to get to town? “Go on,” Pete urged. “I’ll head straight for Sheriff Simmons’s office and report the robbery. A posse will be on your tracks within the hour.” “Appreciate this, Pete. Take your time and you should be fine.” He raised a hand in farewell and clucked to the horse. Once the horse turned to return the way they’d come, Slade’s thoughts centered on how to find the women in this wide, open country. He’d have to go back to where he’d last seen the stagecoach and follow what tracks remained. The constant throb at the back of his head muddied his thoughts, but he couldn’t afford the time for the pain to lessen. His duty demanded he track down the bandits. His heart demanded he rescue Jazzy. The memory of her stricken face and the way she struggled against her captor in his last seconds of awareness set his blood racing. What if the impetuous girl refused to cooperate with the bandits? Dread grabbed hold of his gut and twisted. Something told him she wouldn’t keep silent about being abducted. What niggled at him, and couldn’t be ignored, was the possibility he wouldn’t succeed. Normally, he was pretty confident in his capabilities. Maybe the heat was getting to him, or the fact these bastards had beaten him once, or the near impossibility of finding which direction they’d 87

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headed. His temple pounded with the rhythm of a carpenter’s hammer and he fought to stay in the saddle. If he were honest, he’d have to admit he could be wasting his time and energy. Those women could be halfway to Mexico. Or they could already be dead.

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CHAPTER 9

The sun hung low in the sky, shading pink the clouds that hovered against the mountains. Slade squinted at the horizon and frustration tightened his jaw. Only two hours of daylight remained. He didn’t want to think about the wild ideas those vermin might get after nightfall. Spotting a dark spiral of smoke, he coaxed the horse forward, the urgency to find Jazzy fueling his movements. Within a few hundred yards, the breeze carried the aroma of frying bacon to him. He’d found someone. And he hoped he’d interpreted the signs right. His fingers moved to his vest pocket stuffed with scraps from a green silk petticoat he’d picked up along the way. A trail left for him by one smart, resourceful girl. Every nerve in his body tingled with the thought of her being within his reach. Slade tied the horse to a bush and crept forward, the scent of the meat guiding him in the right direction. Eliminating the guard had been as simple as finding the guy snoozing in the shade of the tallest bush 89

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and whacking him over the head with a rock. At the moment, the guy was taking a longer nap than he’d originally planned. He figured this bunch hadn’t pulled off many robberies and had relied on a single sentry. But underestimating them could be fatal. Slade moved cautiously over the uneven ground, his pistol drawn in his steady hand. When the house came into view, he stopped and scanned the terrain. A door and two windows were visible in the front. No one moved outside. To be safe, he dropped back and walked a wide circle, checking the area surrounding the house. The smell of biscuits and bacon grew stronger and his stomach rumbled. He tried not to think about how many hours had passed since the apple and biscuits he’d eaten for breakfast. For several minutes, he watched the back of the house, waiting for evidence of anyone checking through the windows or doors. Then he crept forward, using the lean-to stable and outhouse as cover. Instinct urged him forward, closer to Jazzy. He reached the corner of the house and hesitated, listening for any sound that meant his presence had been discovered. With his back against the rough structure, he inched along toward the closest window. Weak light filtered through the grimy glass. One glance through the window stopped him cold. He clamped his jaw against the primal shout building from deep in his throat. Across the room, one of the bandits was advancing on Jazzy, lascivious intent written in his every move. With her blonde hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders, she stood her ground, one hand resting on a cocked hip. Damnation! He didn’t know if he should charge inside and bury his fist in the bandit’s face or cheer on her defiant attitude. In the next instant, he felt the cold metal of the doorknob against his palm. Jazzy was in danger and he had to get to her. He forced himself to take deep breaths and release the knob. That was not the solution. While running 90

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through several choices, weighing each to determine the safest, he eased back a few steps and positioned himself so he could see inside the room. The man took another step closer, an arrogant grin displaying missing teeth. Jazzy put out a restraining hand and her lips moved. With a toss of her hair and a coy look from under her lashes, she flirted with the man and inched her feet backward. A slow anger burned in Slade’s gut. What the hell was going on? Where were the others? And why was Jazzy alone with this bandit? He glanced around the sparsely furnished room and saw the object she must be attempting to reach. The candle stand on the table near the bed made a perfect weapon. Then her gaze shifted in his direction and her eyes widened. He connected with the outrage and determination in their depths. Taking a closer look, he spotted her hands drawn into fists and a poised readiness about her stance. She narrowed her gaze and inclined her head toward the advancing man. A signal? What was she up to? Slade shook his head. Her eyes flashed him a look as cold as ice, then she turned all her attention on the man who almost had her penned in. She smiled and her fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse, undoing several. He studied her face, trying to determine if she needed his help. She didn’t look scared or worried about this seductive playacting. In fact, her movements were unhurried, almost as if she moved through a practiced routine. Familiar movements, like he’d seen—Realization hit him hard and he swallowed against a too-dry throat. This diversion was easy because she’d clearly gone through the motions many times before. He flashed back to the familiar way she’d touched him at the side of the stage stop, to her provocative statements 91

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in her conversations with the other women, to her ease in accepting his presence in her room at the boardinghouse. She was a soiled dove…a fancy lady…a woman of ill-repute. A woman who operated on the opposite side of the very law he’d sworn an oath to enforce. He ducked out of sight and dropped his head back against the house. What had he gotten himself into here? Had he been blind because she touched a part of him that had been untouchable for too long? How could he have missed the signs of who Jazzy really was? The questions bouncing through his thoughts were drowned out by a single one. Did any of that matter? A shrill laugh sounded from the room. “Oh, what’s your hurry? Waiting will make it better.” Slade heard the nervous note in Jazzy’s voice and his innate desire to defend her pushed away concerns over her past. He looked over his shoulder and clenched his jaw at how the situation had deteriorated so fast. Laying across the mattress and supporting himself on his elbows, the man’s hooded eyes followed each of Jazzy’s movements. She inched her blouse down her shoulders and sashayed her hips, sliding her feet along the floor. From this angle, all Slade could see was the wolfish expression on the ruffian’s face as he watched each glide of her sensuous hips. Things had gone on long enough. Slade grabbed the doorknob, ready to charge through the door. With a last glance through the window, he saw a flash of movement. Jazzy raised the candle stand and brought it down hard on the bandit’s head. He sagged against the bed and lay still. She stumbled backwards and turned away from the bed, arms wrapped around her stomach. Had she been hurt? Slade charged through the door and advanced 92

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on her. His gaze scanned her body, then narrowed on her pale face. Her mouth rounded and she moved away until her back met the wall. He didn’t stop until scant inches separated their bodies. “What was that?” His words were ground out through clenched teeth. Eyes flashing with determination, she raised her chin. “I figured a US marshal would know a diversion when he sees one.” Marshal? He tensed. So she’d learned who he was. They’d discuss that point later. Right now, he had a more important topic. With steely control, he assumed a casual pose, resting a palm on the wall next to her head. “I knew what it was. I want to know why you put yourself at risk.” The faint scent of jasmine rose from her body. At that moment, the anxiety hit him square in the middle of his chest. This woman meant the world to him. He raised his other hand to grab a fistful of her hair and lowered his lips toward hers. He needed to know she was all right. *

*

*

At the last moment, Jazzy angled her head and felt the onslaught of his bruising kiss on her cheek. Slade Thomas was a lawman, a representative of the law she’d spent years avoiding. How could she be intimate with a marshal? His lips coaxed and cajoled along her jaw line. The nerves under her skin tingled. She sagged against his hard chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slade was really here. He’d come back for her, just as she’d hoped and prayed he would. Right now was the most tempted she’d ever been to kiss a man. Her doubts over his intentions still pulled at her feelings, confusing her. Had he come back to perform his sworn duty? Or had he come back because he cared about her safety? He groaned and pulled away, touching his forehead to hers and sucking in a deep breath. “What you do to me, Jazzy girl!” 93

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If she needed proof he’d come back for her, all she had to do was look into the depths of his lusty gaze. Or… she angled her hips forward and pressed against the bulge of his shaft straining the front of his trousers. Oh, my! A firm hand cupped her breast and squeezed. His breath was hot on her cheek as he kissed his way up her jaw. “Ahh, Slade. We can’t—” Her nipples drew into tight beads and her right leg circled his, the heel of her boot rubbing the back of his rockhard calf. Dewy wetness dampened her pantalettes and her hips arched toward the heat of his body. She needed to feel him inside her. Completing what their bodies wanted wouldn’t take long. “Don’t talk. Just let me touch you.” His lips tickled her neck and his voice was muffled. “When I came to in the desert and you were gone…” His hand on her breast stilled and he leaned heavily against her. Something had changed. She sensed it in his touch. Instinctively, she ran a comforting hand up and down his back and tugged at an errant lock of hair that fell over one ear. He smelled of earthy male sweat, dirt and sun. “You found me…us.” He loosened his hold and stared directly into her eyes, dark brows lowered in a frown. “Jazzy, I came for you.” Goose flesh rose on her arms and her heart sped. “I’m grateful.” A grin hiked up one side of his mouth and then he ran a finger along her jaw. “I’ll collect on your gratitude later.” A scuffle and a shout sounded from the other room. Jazzy stilled, a hand gripping the front of his shirt. “The other women. I almost forgot—” Slade stepped back and instantly became US Marshal Thomas, his pistol held at his hip and weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He eased open the door and leaned out his head before slipping through the doorway and shoving aside the blanket. 94

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Jazzy pushed in behind him and stopped, her jaw dropping at what she saw. Feet braced apart and shoulders squared, Sarah Whitfield stood in the middle of the room and brandished a pistol at the remaining two bandits. “Get over in that corner.” Jazzy brushed past Slade and moved further into the room. “Sarah, what are you doing?” At her side, Slade shifted closer. Was he being protective? She wasn’t sure, but, in an instant, his body heat infused her with confidence. Sarah’s hand moved in a steady arc until the pistol aimed at their side of the room. A knowing grin stretched her lips. “Ah, Marshal Slade, you’re just a little too late. I’m grabbing my bag and getting out of here.” Jazzy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was this the same woman who’d ridden beside her on the stagecoach? The shy lady who was traveling as a mail-order bride? The one who’d fainted at the thought of abduction? “Slade’s here now, Sarah. He’s rescuing us. We’re all safe.” She moved a step closer, but felt the pressure of Slade’s restraining hand on her elbow. “Jazzy, no,” Slade commanded. The pistol jerked back and forth, pointing toward the bandits in the corner and then Jazzy. “Stay where you are, Jessimay. All I want is my money.” Slade inched forward. “You mean the bank’s money.” A sneer wrinkled Sarah’s lip. She grabbed the handles of the satchel she’d kept close all during the trip. “Not any more. Let me see your other hand, Marshal.” Slade shifted his body away, the gun tight along his thigh. “I’m sworn to bring you in. No one wants any problems here. Put down the gun and toss aside the bag.” Sarah jeered and shook her head. “Can’t do that.” 95

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“Well, I can’t believe this.” Prudence’s words were scathing. A spoon rattled against the stove and she stomped across the floor, hands on hips. “I’ve been sharing the stagecoach with a common thief.” In a moment of disbelief, Jazzy wondered what Prudence’s reaction would be when the prissy woman learned the truth about her own former occupation. She turned back to Sarah and held out a staying hand to this suddenly brazen woman. “Sarah, you don’t even know where we are. How can you get back to town?” Sarah’s gaze flicked over the occupants of the room, the pistol followed a beat behind. “Doesn’t matter. All’s I care about is holding onto my money and getting away.” A sudden movement blurred in the corner of Jazzy’s eye and she saw Sarah spin in reaction. In the same instant, a shot boomed and a blow slammed into her hip, making her stagger. *

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Instinct pushed Slade into a crouch and he fired, aiming at the spot where he’d last seen Sarah. But quicker than the gun smoke lifted, she’d disappeared out the front door. He allowed himself one rapid scan of the room to check on the others before following his quarry, the bank robber. Mrs. Harrington cowered by the table, and the bandits sat forward, eyes alert to the new situation. Slade pointed his pistol toward them. “Don’t give me a reason to use this.” He glanced out the door, but couldn’t see in which direction she’d fled. “I’m going after Sarah. Jazzy, stay inside.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she knew he meant what he said. “Did you hear—” Jazzy lay slumped against the wall, eyes wide with surprise. A hole surrounded by singed cloth marked her skirt along her left side. Damn. Had she been hit? 96

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CHAPTER 10

A hollow cry of denial rose from deep within Slade and he clamped his jaw tight to keep it inside. She couldn’t be gutshot. A bullet to the abdomen often proved fatal, even with immediate medical care, which they didn’t have here. He strode across the room and dropped to his knees, careful not to bump her. “Jazzy girl, I’m here.” With one sweeping glance, he tried to gauge the extent of her injuries. He’d seen plenty of gunshots in his years of law enforcement, even doctored some. Her arms and legs hung limp and splayed—no broken bones. Her head was angled to the right, probably just from the impact of her landing. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes clenched shut. God, he needed to touch her. With a hand more shaky than he wanted to admit, he cupped her jaw and ran a thumb over her soft, warm cheek. “Look at me, Jazzy!” She groaned and her eyelids fluttered. At the pained sound, his gut clenched. If he’d been in better control 97

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of the situation, he’d be the one flat on his back and barely conscious. If he’d waited a moment longer, if he’d done his job right… He pulled in a breath through tight lips and forced calm into his words. “Jazzy, let me see your beautiful eyes.” She rolled her head to the side and pressed her cheek against his hand. “Slade.” A gasp cut off the single word. “I’m here.” He slipped his fingers down the side of her neck to check her pulse. Was it too fast? How in blazes could he tell? When he reached to brush away hair from her face, he felt the tickle of her breath against the back of his hand. Keep breathing, Jazzy girl. Her eyelids flickered and her confused gaze, dark with pain, connected with his. “My side burns like fire.” The knot in his stomach tightened. Seeing hurt shadowing her gaze made his chest ache. “I know, darlin’.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Mrs. Harrington, get me some water and cloth.” The woman stood and shrugged her shoulders almost as high as her ears, hands lifted with palms upwards. “Look around. Where am I going to get cloth for bandages?” “Damn it, woman.” He gritted his teeth and glared at the helpless female. “Tear the dress off your back if you have to. Just get me some cloth to tend Jazzy’s wound.” He cut a glance toward the corner where the men watched him, their gazes calculating. With a flick of his wrist, he raised the pistol to remind them who was still in charge of this situation. One eye on the bandits, he turned back to Jazzy, and the frustration at having to divide his attention sent his blood racing. He had to help her, but he feared he didn’t know enough doctoring. Her gaze was steady and her chest rose and fell in quick pants. “Slade, go after Sarah. It’s your duty.” She struggled to sit straighter, but gasped. Her skin paled and she pressed her lips tightly together. Her hands folded into fists in the folds of her skirt. “I’ll be fine.” 98

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Not for a moment was he fooled by her attempt to be brave. One look at her strained expression and tensed muscles told the real story. This spitfire was definitely too stubborn for her own good. “You’re a terrible liar, Jazzy. And I’m not leaving you.” Mrs. Harrington arrived, carrying a dented pot and a wad of pale green fabric. “Here. This is what I found.” Slade checked on the men, who hadn’t moved from their position. Maybe they wouldn’t cause trouble, but he couldn’t rely on it. His pistol stayed aimed toward the corner. He glanced at the older woman, who was becoming as annoying as a horsefly in July with her inability to take any kind of useful action. “Tear that bundle into strips. Woman, haven’t you ever bound a wound?” Mrs. Harrington grabbed the pale cloth and yanked at it, her cheeks stained an indignant red. “Coughs and colds I can remedy, Mr. Thomas.” She drew herself upright and pursed her lips together. “But I’m a civilized woman from an upstanding family and I’m used to mingling in polite, genteel company. I’ve never seen or tended a gunshot wound. I really have no interest in learning either.” A shudder ran through her body. With growing impatience, he watched the woman struggle with the fabric for several moments, then reached for the garment. Wedging an edge between his elbow and his thigh, he pulled hard and was rewarded by the screech of ripping cloth. He handed it back to the woman, then lowered his gaze to Jazzy. “I want to take you into the bedroom—” “Do you now?” A hint of a grin lifted the corners of her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her flirting. “To make you more comfortable. But I can’t let those men out of my sight. If I do, all hell will break loose, and we’ll have real trouble on our hands.” He’d give anything to sweep her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make her prove she could give him what her attitude promised. Maybe then his insides would unwind and his chest relax enough to draw a 99

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normal breath. “The best I can do is here, on the table.” “Always a first time.” The image of what she suggested flashed across his mind and his blood heated. With that sass, could she be stronger than he’d thought? “Jazzy.” He couldn’t stop himself from drawing out her name, like a fading echo. She rested a hand on his arm, all teasing gone from her eyes. “Stop looking so worried, Slade. You’re scaring me.” Her words tore at his conscience. She was more important than bringing in those bandits and the bank robber. With one last look at the room’s corner, he scooped her up and held her close to his chest. Adjusting his grip so the bandits could see he still held the pistol, he strode to the table and swept her feet across one end. Forks, cups, and tin plates thudded on the planking, spraying their contents onto the floor. “Mrs. Harrington, grab me something for her head.” The woman scurried to the upended baggage under a front window and started tossing aside the rumpled clothes. Her head jerked up and she stepped closer to the doorway. “Marshal, I hear horses coming.” Slade cursed under his breath and squinted at the clouds of dust rising in the distance. What else could happen? Did he truly need more than a hunted bank robber on the loose in the desert, a woman who seemed useless as a nurse, three bandits just itching to escape, and the woman he loved weakening before his eyes? His admission of love stopped him. Love? He loved this sassy independent bit of a woman who set his heart pounding? No time to contemplate what that could mean for his future. Their future. Pushing away those thoughts, he grabbed the wad of green fabric. “Here, Jazzy, press this against your side until it hurts. And keep it there, pushing hard.” With long strides, he crossed the room to the window, shifting his gaze between the bandits and the growing cloud of dust outside. “Mrs. Harrington, go help Jazzy.” 100

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“Mrs. Harrington this and Mrs. Harrington that.” She shook her head and mumbled as she filled her hands with garments. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Thomas. You’re not the lord of the manor and I’m not a serving girl for you to order about.” “Ah, Slade, there’s one that’s not on our list.” Jazzy’s words were barely above a whisper. Slade let Mrs. Harrington’s grumbling roll off him. He cut a glance at Jazzy and bit back a curse at the pallor of her face. Whoever approached the house would arrive whether he watched or not. He had enough to deal with inside these four walls. And that meant tending Jazzy. “Come help me, Mrs. Harrington.” He speared her with a dark look. “Now.” Mrs. Harrington stopped at the side of the table, a wad of red silk in her hand. “Oh, my favorite petticoat.” Jazzy raised a limp hand toward the garment. His chest tightened. His doctoring skills weren’t worth a damn, but there was no one else. “Tell me where you’re hurt. Look at me, Jazzy.” “I’m looking.” Her head angled toward his voice, and she blinked several times before forcing her eyes wide open. “Hi, Slade.” “Hey, darlin’.” To keep his expression neutral and his words soothing just about killed him. “I’ve got to find your wound and see how bad it is. I don’t have time to undress you carefully.” “Could…be…fun.” Mrs. Harrington sucked in a gasp. “Scandalous! I won’t be a party to—” “Good.” He silenced her with a menacing glare. “You can stand guard on the bandits over there.” Slade slapped the pistol into her outstretched hand and wrapped her other hand around it. “The hammer is already back. Just keep it pointed at those two in that corner.” He narrowed his gaze in the direction of the no-count thieves. “If either of 101

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them moves, pull back on the trigger. And for God’s sakes, don’t shoot one of us!” Shaking her head, Mrs. Harrington stepped back and lowered the weapon. “But…I don’t think—” Slade yanked her arms, lining up her outstretched hands with the corner. He gave her a stony stare and ground out the words, “Just do it.” He waited for her answering nod, knowing he would accept no resistance. With relief, he turned his attention back to Jazzy and slipped a knife from his pocket. A couple of quick slashes at the hem, then he tore the skirt fabric up to the charred bullet hole. On her green petticoat underneath was a growing bloodstain. His worst fear was confirmed. The bullet had hit her. “Oh, Slade, why did you ruin my new dress?” Jazzy levered up to one elbow and gazed down at her clothes. Her eyes widened at the bloody mess and she sucked in a quick breath. “Is all that blood mine? I can’t stand… Oooh…” Her words faded, then she fell back on the table, her head thumping hollowly against the wooden surface. He froze and fought back panic, trying to convince himself this new situation was better. Now he could tend to her wound without worrying about increasing her pain. With quick strokes, he pierced the next layer of silky fabric and cut, his progress stopped in places by some damn metal supports. Trying not to think about whose blood covered the petticoat he held, he concentrated on not cutting Jazzy’s skin. Outside, hooves thundered close and slowed to a stop. At this point, US Marshal Thomas didn’t care enough to face the door. All Slade’s attention was on the woman stretched out on the table. He placed the back of his hand between her breasts and felt her chest move with each shallow breath. Good, keep breathing. That’s half the battle. “Hello in the house.” A gruff voice boomed from outside. “I’m 102

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Sheriff Simmons from Silveridge.” Help had arrived. Slade’s over-tense muscles started to relax. The load he’d been shouldering alone lightened. “Hello, Sheriff. US Marshal Thomas. We spoke at Ella’s boardinghouse. Got three stagecoach bandits in here, one’s unconscious in a back room.” “The driver Pete told us they were headed this way.” The voice was confident and definitely closer. Good old Pete. Slade lifted away the petticoat, curious at its weight, and exposed an angry gash that ran upwards high on Jazzy’s hip. He dipped a strip in the water and dabbed at the slash in her pantalettes to clean away the blood. “Got two coach passengers here, too. One’s been shot. Can’t tell how bad.” “Thomas, I’m coming in.” Slade stepped in between the table and the door to block Jazzy’s partially disrobed body from the doorway, then glanced over his shoulder. “Come on in.” The room dimmed as the tall man, gun moving in a slow, sweeping arc, paused in the doorway. A single glance told Slade his fellow lawman was in control of the room. “Obliged if you’d relieve my guard there.” He cut his gaze toward Mrs. Harrington, whose arms were shaking from the effort of keeping the gun steady. Simmons scanned the room, nodded and gestured to someone still outside. “Pete said three women were on the stage. Where’s the third?” Another man entered the house, stepped to Mrs. Harrington and eased the gun from her shaky hand. Good, now Slade could concentrate on what was truly important. He pressed the bandage tighter against Jazzy’s hip. “Turned out the third passenger, a seemingly timid Miss Whitfield, fooled me. She’s the woman on the wanted poster. While I was”—the memory of his body pressed close to Jazzy’s against the wall flashed through his mind and 103

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he cleared his throat before continuing—“occupied with a third stage robber in the back room, she drew down on the bandits. I couldn’t get close enough to disarm her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fooling about her aim. Shot once into the group, hit this lady with her bullet, then escaped.” The sheriff stepped back to the door and hollered, “Got a female loose and set on escaping. Send Jimmy Greenbush to scout tracks moving away from the cabin. Then send Taylor in here…and tell him to bring his bag.” Slade jerked up his head, afraid to believe. “You got a doctor with you?” “Sure do.” Simmons pushed his hat back on his forehead. “Doc Taylor’s ridden with every posse for as long as I can remember.” Relief flooded through Slade and he leaned a hip against the table, not trusting his suddenly shaky legs. Help was here for his Jazzy girl. A gray-haired man crossed the floor with surprising speed, his assessing gaze taking in the situation. “Fainted?” “Yeah, a few minutes now. She was talking fine, even joking a bit and then she just…” He swallowed hard, pushing away the dread that threatened to choke off his throat. “Move away, son. I’ll take over.” The doctor’s lips curled into a tight grin. He set his bag on the corner of the table and removed his jacket. “Go get some coffee or have a smoke. This may be a while.” Slade stepped back enough to give the doctor room to do what was necessary, but he didn’t leave. Moving to the opposite side of the table, he clasped her hand. He’d promised Jazzy he’d be there by her side and he’d meant it. *

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Muffled voices speaking too slowly reached her ears. A sharp smell tingled the inside of her nose. She shifted and a fiery pain ran along her left hip. A groan slipped through her clenched lips. Lordy, had that 104

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croak come from her mouth? A firm hand held her leg in place. “Lie still. Doc’s helping you.” She knew that voice. “Slade?” “I’m right here, Jazzy. I didn’t go anywhere.” A calloused finger brushed her check, and her heart warmed at the sound of his familiar voice, at his touch that set her heart racing with even the most casual of caresses. Why did she need a doctor? She struggled to lift her eyelids. The sunlight filtering through the open doorway stabbed her eyes. Her hip burned, her head pounded, and her whole body ached. A warm hand rested on hers and squeezed. “What do you need, Jazzy girl?” “Water.” A strong arm slipped under her shoulders and lifted her several inches. Ah, the scent that was her Slade—leather and coffee and the special musk that was his alone. A cool metal cup pressed against her lips and then sweet water flowed into her dry mouth. Too soon it stopped. “More.” “Later.” Slade’s word tickled her cheek. She tried to nestle closer to his voice, but felt only empty air. Disappointment nagged at her thoughts. Why wasn’t Slade next to her? “Doc isn’t done yet.” She opened her eyes enough to focus on Slade’s face. His brows were tangled into a deep frown. “Done with what?” “Don’t you remember?” He narrowed his gaze and stared hard, then jerked up his head and focused on a point above her. “Hey, Doc, is that normal?” At that moment, she felt a tug at her hip and gasped. A cool breeze brushed along her bare leg. Why was her skirt up and her leg displayed? “How’s she doing, Doc?” 105

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She started at the question spoken by a stranger’s voice and grabbed at her skirt to cover her exposed skin. “Slade, who is that?” “The sheriff from Silveridge.” He flashed her a grin and squeezed her hand. “He’s come to help with the bandits.” Bandits? “Sheriff, I’ve tied them up. Should I take them outside?” Another stranger? Jazzy levered herself up on one elbow and looked around Slade to where a second strange man stood, gun drawn. “Just how many people are in this cabin? And me lying here in torn clothing.” “Hello, Miss Morgan.” Mrs. Harrington leaned forward in her chair and waved her hand in weak greeting. Seeing the ornery woman brought the events of the past day flooding back. The stagecoach, the dirty men who’d hijacked them, the despicable one who beat Slade, the torn shreds of petticoat she’d left as a trail, the sight of lusty men pawing through— Her belongings! Jazzy sat upright, ignoring the sudden pinch in her skin as her hip bent. Panic settled in her stomach. “Where’s my money?” “Lay back.” Slade’s words were harsh. “What money?” Jazzy barely noticed his change in tone. She scanned the table and a nearby chair. Where was her petticoat? The petticoat with hand-sewn pockets for all her money. Five years of savings couldn’t be lost! With her fist gathering the cloth of her skirt at her hip, she slid down from the table and her knees buckled. A hand clasped her arm and steadied her. “Whoa, little lady. Where are you going?” Why was the floor moving? Buzzing sounded in her ears. “I’ve got to find my money.” “Hold on.” The older man’s words cajoled. “You’ve got to stay right here and rest. Your money isn’t the most important thing right 106

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now.” She reeled on her feet and grabbed the edge of the table, closing her eyes to stop the dizziness. Stay here…money…important… Those words circled in her head, as if trying to outrace one another. Then thoughts clicked into their proper places and a feeling like she’d never known filled her from the inside out. Slade had stayed at her side when she’d been injured. He hadn’t chased after Sarah and the bank’s money. He should have gone because that was his job, and Slade Thomas was a man whose job was most important. Her heart raced and a thrill ran over her skin. He cared more for her than he did for his duties. That had to be why he’d stayed. She fought to hold on to the wonderful discovery that this strong, protective man cared for her. Jessimay Morgan, the little lost orphan, finally had someone who cared. From behind her, Slade cleared his throat. “I asked you, what money?” His words were steely cold. She turned and looked into the face of the lawman she’d glimpsed on the stagecoach the first day. US Marshal Slade Thomas—watchful and distant. His shuttered gaze shriveled her joy like a late frost on the first buds of spring. This relationship was hopeless. She couldn’t deny she loved this wonderful man, but now doubted any good would come of such a foolish emotion. What would an honest man like Slade want with a woman who’d invited men who could pay the right price into her bed? A woman who’d spent the past five years on her back so she could afford a stagecoach ticket headed toward an uncertain future? She breathed deeply and pulled her spine straight, swaying backwards. She’d started this trip alone and she was strong enough to finish it the same way. True, she might have an empty hole where her heart used to be, but she’d finish what she started. Squaring her 107

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shoulders, she jutted out her chin. “The money I need to start my new life.” He shook his head and stepped closer, concern warming his gaze. “Forget about it, Jazzy. Sit yourself in that chair before you fall down.” She refused to acknowledge the caring tone in his words. Better not get distracted by what won’t be there in the end. “I’m fine. If you’d worked as hard as I did for that money, you wouldn’t be quick to forget it. I earned every last nickel.” With a toss of her head, she gazed around the small cabin and spotted her petticoat in a heap under the table. When she leaned over to grab it, the floor wavered and she dropped to one knee before both legs collapsed. A strong hand grasped her upper arm and held her steady. “Damn it, woman. Why won’t you listen?” His scent wrapped around her and she inhaled, fearing this was the last time he’d willingly touch her. “Oh, I’ve gone from Jazzy girl to damn woman. I’m not surprised.” At least, he’d stayed long enough to make sure she got help—a gesture she’d always remember. “What are you rambling about?” “I am not rambling. Maybe a few minutes ago, my thoughts were fanciful.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and forced herself to stand upright, the petticoat held tight in her hand. Pressing it against her exposed thigh, she grabbed handfuls of cloth and let out a sigh of relief when her fingers outlined the large coins. Her money was safe. “Look, it’s right here.” She extended her arm and shook the petticoat in the air. “I’ve got my priorities in order again. I remember what’s important, and the most important thing is my freedom.” A frown creased Slade’s forehead and his lips drew into a tight line. “Jazzy, you’ve had a scare—” “Thomas,” Sheriff Simmons called from across the room, “you coming?” Slade glanced over his shoulder. “Hold on a bit.” When he turned 108

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back, his expression had softened. “The sheriff is probably reorganizing the posse. Why don’t you lie down in the bedroom?” Now that she knew her future was still hers to guide, weariness flooded her limbs. She was so tired and only heard his last words. Irritation tightened her grip on her petticoat. Was he no better than her previous customers? Had she been mistaken about thinking he cared for her? “Hoping for a last tumble before joining the posse? Off to chase the glory that’s due you?” He cupped her shoulders and held her in his firm grasp until she met his gaze. “Why are you talking like this?” Didn’t he know she was only trying to save her pride? Even though she yearned to be pulled tight against his body and surrounded by his strength. She had to build a protective covering over her heart so the sight of him walking out of her life didn’t devastate her. If she heaped his image with enough mud, she might bear living without him in the long empty years that stretched ahead. Suddenly, her body ached for one last embrace. One last time to be held and cherished. Tempted by the memory of how safe she’d felt in his arms, she glanced into his eyes and swayed forward. “That’s it. I’m putting you to bed.” Slade scooped her into his arms and strode across the room, using her extended feet to push wide the door into the back room. He lowered her to the ticking, pulled the petticoat from her grasp and tossed it on a nearby chair. From the foot of the mattress, he yanked off a thin blanket, shook it vigorously and covered her body. “You’re so tired, you’re talking nonsense. I’ve got business to discuss with the sheriff before I come back and set things right with you.” With a clenched jaw and lowered eyebrows, he pointed a finger in her direction. “Stay here until I tell you to get up.” For a moment, Jazzy thrilled at his masterful manner. Memories of their time together at the boardinghouse flashed through her mind. What wouldn’t she give to repeat that wonderful night? Maybe she 109

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could convince Slade to join her here in the bed when he was finished with the sheriff. What were those new playacting roles Mrs. Harrington mentioned? “Jazzy, promise me.” Weariness dragged at her thoughts and she shook her head. “Promise what?” He drew a hand down his face and narrowed his gaze. “That you’ll rest until I get back. Then we have to set some things straight.” Cold dread settled on her thoughts. Saints alive, had he found out about her past? She forced a thin smile to her lips and nodded. What were her chances of copying Sarah’s escape?

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CHAPTER 11

Slade barely heard the instructions Sheriff Simmons relayed to the men of the posse crowded in the dusty yard. The man sounded competent enough and the others appeared willing to carry out his instructions. For once, Slade didn’t mind letting someone else take the lead. His thoughts were in the back room of this ramshackle cabin. More particularly, with the spitfire of a stubborn woman who made him crazy with the burning need to protect her. Doc had warned him the blow to Jazzy’s head might muddy her thoughts for a spell. Her talk about starting a new life and freedom was all-wrong. Hadn’t she already realized their futures were linked? Wasn’t that what their night together had meant? Truth be told, he admitted to himself, he hadn’t exactly spoken any tender words of promise or the future. In his mind, however, their shared passion counted more than any flowery words ever could. “Thomas.” The tall lawman stood staring at Slade, arms crossed, 111

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eyebrows slanted at a quizzical angle. Ignoring the man’s knowing look, Slade pulled his thoughts back to the job at hand. Once he’d dealt with his final obligation involving the sheriff and the bank robber on the loose, he could concentrate on what really mattered. Or rather, whom. “Sheriff.” “Do you have any changes to my plan?” Plan? What had the man been saying? Something about having more people to transport than the stagecoach had seats. “I’m sure you’ve laid out the best use of your men.” Sheriff Simmons’s lips twitched into a half smile for just a moment, then pressed into a line. “That I have, but I’m asking about your official involvement. This is your case. You’ve trailed the female robber for weeks and you captured these thieves. Can I count on you to drive the stage back to Silveridge?” Logical for the lawman to expect him to want that duty. In any other capture, Slade would have offered, insisted even, before the question was spoken. Not this time. He shook his head. “Better assign someone else. I’m staying behind with the injured passenger. Doc says she ought to rest.” Simmons squinted at the sun hanging low in the western sky. “Don’t know if I can get fresh horses out before dark.” Slade edged closer and pitched his voice so only the sheriff could hear. “I’m counting on that.” “Thought you might be.” He winked and tugged down the brim of his hat. “I’m leaving behind a rifle and a box of shells. Never know what varmint will cross your path in these parts.” “Obliged, sheriff. I’ll drop by your office to sign off the paperwork in the next day or two.” A lean rider astride a pinto approached. “Sheriff, the bandits are corralled like calves to be branded inside the coach. They won’t be 112

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giving us any more trouble.” Nodding, the tall man leaned toward the yard and pointed at the rider. “Jeffers, you drive the stage. Help Mrs. Harrington onto your horse, making her as comfortable as you can.” Simmons turned back to Slade and stuck out his hand. “Always glad to assist another lawman.” Slade shook hands. “Best of luck in finding Sarah.” “Our tracker’s one of the best.” He dipped his chin to accompany his words and stepped toward the edge of the porch. “The rest of you mount up.” Slade leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and waited until the group moved out of sight beneath a cloud of dust. That obligation would be taken care of soon. This had been his last hunt as a marshal, and no regrets lingered over not finishing the assignment. Sheriff Simmons seemed competent to finish it. He shoved off the frame, turned away from the waning light and walked to the back of the cabin. Now he could concentrate on getting an explanation. The door opened with a creak and he winced at how the sound pierced his throbbing head. He raised a hand toward the back of his head and pressed below the aching bump. Hard to believe he’d been attacked and left unconscious in the dirt less than six hours earlier. Jazzy lay on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek, her lips open and inviting. Heat pooled low in his belly. Even as tired as he was, Slade felt desire flood his senses. He remembered how well her curves fit against his body. And the feeling of completeness he’d felt falling asleep at her side. Had that only been the previous night? They’d experienced so much in these past few hours. Enough for him to know she was the woman he wanted to wake up with for the rest of his life. He toed off his boots, unbuckled his holster and dropped his trousers to the floor. Making sure his gun was within easy reach under the bed, he slipped onto the ticking mattress and fitted his long legs 113

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behind hers. He bit back a tired sigh. With an instinct that now felt natural, he slid his arms around her warm body and closed his eyes. *

*

*

Jazzy snuggled deeper into the mattress and tried to adjust her position, but something weighed heavily on her waist. She yanked on the blanket and her hand touched a warm, muscled weight. Her heart raced with panic, and she stiffened and pulled away her hand. Someone—a man—was in bed with her. But she always slept alone. Then vague familiarity crept into her senses. She’d heard that raspy breathing before. The body curved behind her fit mighty fine. This was the exact position she’d wakened in the morning before. In the stagecoach line’s boardinghouse after a night of the best sex she’d ever enjoyed. Where was she? She cracked open one eye to look at her surroundings. The room was lit with only a shaft of moonlight filtering through the single dirty window. She recognized the crude cabin where the bandits had brought the stagecoach and their hostages. The events of the past day crashed through her memory. Waking up in Slade’s arms…his avoidance of sitting with her over breakfast…his concern when the bandits approached…watching him get beaten bloody as he tried to save her and the other women…the crushing pain she’d felt at the sight of him sprawled in the dirt…the relief at seeing his face through that very window…knowing he hadn’t pursued the bank’s money to stay behind and tend her wound. As if on cue, all her aches and pains throbbed—the bump on her head, the cut on her hip, but mostly, the emptiness in her heart. Her throat constricted and a prickling at the back of her eyes hinted at tears. She slid her hand down the rough blanket until it rested on Slade’s arm—the solid arm of the man who’d come to mean so much in such a short time. 114

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Three days ago, when she’d boarded the stage in San Antonio, she’d known what she wanted most—to see mountains and to start a new life. She bit the inside of her lower lip to keep a sob from escaping. When this day dawned, she would say goodbye to Slade. An honest man like him had no room in his life for a woman like her. But she could soak in every texture and every scent of this moment for as long as it lasted. “You’re thinking too hard,” Slade’s voice rumbled in her ear. So, the moment had ended already. “Oh, you’re awake.” “Hard to sleep when a desirable woman is stretched out along my body and stroking my arm.” Her hand stilled. How long had she been doing that? Touching him had become so natural. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” “No need to apologize. I like the feel of your hands on me.” His hand settled over her stomach, his thumb rubbing a slow arc toward her breasts. “And mine on you.” She gritted her teeth against the rightness of his action. Part of her wanted to belong to this man. But she had to face the truth. “What’s happening, Slade?” “The sheriff and the posse carted the bandits and Mrs. Harrington back to Silveridge. And he’s got a tracker and some men looking for Sarah. And you’re resting up—Doc’s orders.” Was the man blind? Couldn’t he see that she’d meant what was happening inside this room? Between them? She had to have answers. “Why are you in bed with me?” His hand stilled. “Only one bed in this place and I was tired. I had one hell of a day.” Her jaw ached from being tightly clamped. Don’t get swayed by the security of his embrace. Jessimay Morgan, you have a dream and a goal. Think on that and put some space between yourself and this 115

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alluring man. She pushed against his arm and scooted toward the edge of the bed. “I need to get up.” His arm tightened. “Stay beside me.” His words touched her deep inside. What was he really asking? “I can’t.” “Why? Doesn’t being together feel right?” Right. He would have to use that word. “Slade, there are…” She took a deep breath, trying to still her wild thoughts. “I’m not who you think I am.” He pulled her closer and chuckled close to her ear. “You’re not Jessimay Morgan, named after your daddy’s mama, who likes to ride with the stagecoach curtain up? A woman who’s headed to unnamed mountains and wants to open either a dress shop or a tea shop?” She shivered. He remembered about her name? A pang of longing shot through her. “Yes, I’m that woman. But that’s not who I’ve always been.” “I really don’t care.” His fingers tangled in her hair and he brushed a kiss on the nape of her neck. Instinctively, she angled her head to allow him access. Had she heard his words right? No, she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t risk that once he knew what she’d done for the past five years, he’d walk away. If that was going to happen, she wanted it to be now. Before she gave away another piece of her heart. “But I have to say this. Are you listening?” He rolled away and lay flat on his back. “Since all you’re doing with your mouth is talking, I guess I’m listening.” The absence of his body created an aching hollow in her insides. She turned toward the middle of the bed and looked at him. His arm was crooked over his eyes. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and lines bracketed his mouth. The man had been through so much over the last day. 116

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Where to start? She swallowed, suddenly afraid of what the next minutes would bring. “I wanted to be sure to thank you for finding us. I don’t think I did that yesterday.” He dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Part of my job.” “And for staying with me when Sarah took off.” “You’re welcome.” His arm dropped away and he pinned her with a narrowed look. “That’s what you wanted to say? A list of thank yous?” Heat spiraled low in her belly. Would she ever remain untouched by his gaze? Yikes, the man was distracting. “I’m working up to it.” She gripped a fistful of blanket and plucked at its rough edge. “You put yourself between the women and danger. Not every man would have done that.” “Any lawman would.” “Maybe not if he knew who he was really protecting.” Slade’s body tensed and he rolled to his side. “What does that mean?” She couldn’t meet his direct gaze. Why not just leave with him thinking well of her? She could get on the next westbound stagecoach and force herself to forget about the first man who’d stirred her heart. He ran a knuckle down her arm. “Jazzy, talk to me.” The gentle stroke warmed her skin and she leaned his way. “My petticoat—” “Damn!” The bed shifted when he swung an arm toward the far corner. “It’s safe on the chair over there. You sure were worried about that flimsy scrap of cloth.” Her gaze darted to where he’d pointed and she recognized the garment. One problem settled. “Sewed inside that petticoat is every one of the coins I’ve saved over the last five years.” “You mentioned that. Earlier you acted like the money was more important than your well-being.” He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Money isn’t important, but people are.” 117

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Warmth embraced her hand and traveled straight to her heart. She did not deserve this man. And certainly not without telling him the truth. All of it. “But this money is mine. And I have to tell you how I earned it.” “I don’t care.” He draped an arm over her waist and urged her backwards. “The bandits are headed toward justice, you’re safe and that’s what matters.” If only she could believe. “Those words may change when you hear me out.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “I doubt that.” She closed her eyes and inhaled, knowing she’d have to get out the truth in one sentence. “I earned that money over the past five years in Room 13 on the second floor of Miss Veronica’s Pleasure Emporium.” His lips grazed her cheek. “I know.” “What?” Her eyes shot open and she wriggled out of his embrace. “You know? What in blue blazes do you mean?” “What else can my words mean, Jazzy? I know you were a hooker.” For a moment, a roaring echoed in her head and her blood chilled in her body. Images of untidy women in unkempt clothing waiting in the windows along dark alleys came to mind. Women reduced to enticing customers by baring cleavage or the length of their legs for all to see. Denial rose from the tips of her toes. “I was not.” She tossed back the blanket and jumped to the floor. With hands jammed onto her hips, she squared off to face the bed, wincing at the sharp twinge in her side. Don’t be stupid, Jazzy, think before you let the words fly. “I was a paid companion!” “A companion?” He shook his head and the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “So you accompanied these men? Where exactly did you go?” “Oooohh!” She glared at his smug expression and stomped across the room, ignoring the chilly morning air on her bare feet and the 118

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burning ache where she’d been shot. “Miss Veronica’s was a high-class bordello. I was a parlor girl who entertained clients with witty conversation and dances—” “Jazzy…” He narrowed his gaze, his lips thinned into a hard line. “I don’t care what fancy words you use, you were a whore.” She gasped. Irritation as hot as a Texas wind chased along her skin. “Miss Veronica never allowed such crude language around her girls. All the gentlemen customers were warned and”—her throat threatened to close before she finished—“we were always treated sp-special.” How dare he? “Then she created a fool’s paradise.” He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind his head. “I don’t know what you mean.” Why did their parting have to happen like this? Was one last day of him thinking kindly of her before going their separate ways too much to ask? “I’ve seen scores of fancy houses over the years, from both sides of the badge.” He snorted, his words shooting from his mouth. “I don’t care what crap that madam fed you, I know what people think of houses like she kept, and the women who work in them.” Jazzy pressed a hand over her bandaged wound and paced. This couldn’t be happening. She’d always feared his reaction if he learned about her past, and she couldn’t bear him thinking of her in that way. “Surely not a fancy place like Miss Veronica’s. The town ladies even visited from time to time.” “Visited, Jazzy?” His voice was quieter. “Or came collecting for their pet charity?” No, he couldn’t be right. She stopped and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Miss Veronica’s had refinement and class. The sofas were covered in silk all the way from China. In the parlor, velvet curtains hung at the windows. We drank wine from crystal goblets and there was a piano. Estelle knew a few nice tunes and a quiet girl named 119

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Katy sang along. The men enjoyed our socials.” She whirled and faced him, trying to judge the impact of her words. “Does that sound like a common brothel?” “Sounds like Miss Veronica ran a nice place, Jazzy.” He scratched a hand along his jaw and shook his head slowly. “But the fact is, you spread your legs to various men for money.” Lord almighty, the man was blunt. Pain seized her chest and she stumbled to the chair, grabbing hold of her weighted petticoat and easing herself to the seat. “But…not just any man walked through that red varnished door. Our rates weren’t affordable by most.” She covered her mouth with a shaky hand and stared at the wooden plank floor, vowing not to come any more unglued in front of Slade. With a roll of his shoulders, he stretched and hung his hands on the headboard railing. “Okay, only men who had the right price could buy your favors for a few hours.” Even as shaken as she was, she couldn’t ignore the defined muscles of his chest and the dark hair that ran down his taut— She shook away that distracting thought. “And only men who Miss Veronica personally knew to be gentlemen. She didn’t abide bullies or known drunks.” She had to make him understand she hadn’t lifted her skirts to a rough clientele. “We always had the say of who was allowed into our rooms.” “Really?” His eyebrows shot up. “How do you think that worked, from the profit angle, I mean? Doesn’t sound like any whorehouse I’ve ever been in.” Her spine stiffened and she inhaled deeply. “I told you, it wasn’t a—” Slade ran a hand down his face and scooted to the edge of the mattress. “I heard you.” He swung his feet to the floor and reached for his long johns, jamming his feet into the legs. “But did you ever refuse a man she presented? Did you see any of the other ladies turn away a customer?” 120

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She gripped the cloth and felt the weight of her freedom money. Funny, but the knowledge it was safe didn’t fill her with reassurance the way it used to. Awareness of what he was saying hit her hard, shaking her convictions. Could she have said “not tonight” to Miss Veronica? If the ability to keep a man out of her room hadn’t been truly hers, then what had she been? Dread coiled in her stomach. Slade couldn’t be right. He just couldn’t. “Like I said before, Miss Veronica checked them out first.” His head jerked up and he glared. “Come on, Jazzy. I’ve accepted the choice you made.” He stood and pulled up the legs of his underwear, fastening only enough buttons so the garment hung loosely on his hips. The sight of his tight ass and muscular legs made her heart thump. She averted her gaze and struggled to answer him. “You think I had a choice?” “Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not?” Ah, here was the truth of what he thought of her. With a heavy sigh, she drew up her knees and hugged them tightly. So much time had passed since she’d thought of her family. She steeled her thoughts against bad memories and took a deep breath. “I had just turned fourteen and I wanted a special trip to town, without my younger brother and sister tagging along. Mama understood and shushed Papa when he complained about me delayin’ my chores. I rode in a shiny horse cart with my best friend Amelia and her parents.” She glanced at Slade, but couldn’t hold his questioning gaze. Through the dusty window, she spotted a mesquite bush silhouetted on a rise and focused on it as the sunlight strengthened. “I remember Amelia’s daddy treated us to sarsaparillas at the general store, and I bought penny candies for Jimmy and Tess. All of a sudden, the store grew as dark as night and a roar like I’d never heard clambered in our ears. 121

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“The windows and doors rattled and the old dog, who always slept through the noisiest batch of children, started howling. The most godawfulest sound that raised gooseflesh on my arms.” Right now, her skin reacted in the exact same way and she rocked slightly in the straightlegged chair. “All we could do was hold tight to each other and wait.” She swallowed hard before continuing, “When we walked outside five minutes later, nothing was the same. The tornado had cut a path through town, ripping up the cemetery, but leaving the church whole.” She cleared her throat, fighting to get the words past the flow of tears. “When we reached my family’s farm, the only thing still standing was the chicken coop. I never saw my family again.” He moved toward her, a soft expression in his gaze. “Aw, Jazzy, I’m sorry. I didn’t—” “So you thought I had a choice.” Shoulders squared and chin raised, she dashed a hand across her wet cheeks and stood. The petticoat slid from her grasp and hit the floor with a dull thud that barely registered on her senses. “I’ll tell you what choice I had. I was too old and gawky to be adopted into a loving family. But a farmer, a Mr. Standhold, wanted help for his wife with the kitchen duties and their six children. “The minister sent me ten miles outside of town to a dirty, cramped farmhouse and into the care of a good churchgoing family. Ha! I wasn’t there a week before upstanding citizen Benjamin Standhold starting pressing himself against me at the stove or pinching my behind while I served supper.” Slade edged closer and reached out a hand, his brows tight with concern. “You don’t have to do this, Jazzy.” “Oh, yes, I do.” She leaned away and tossed her head, looking him square in the eye. “You told me I had to face facts. Well, maybe you need a dose of the same medicine. I went to Mrs. Standhold, but she just berated me for flauntin’ myself. Back then, I didn’t even know the meaning of the word. I used every trick I could think of to avoid that 122

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horrible man.” Those feelings of helplessness from that time threatened to engulf her and she choked back a sob. “But he wouldn’t leave me alone. “On my first trip into town, I ran away. I stayed hidden for two days before the ladies at Miss Veronica’s organized their own search party, then brought me back to her place. At first, they treated me like a pampered pet, giving me castoff clothes and bringing me food from downstairs. They convinced Miss Veronica I could earn my keep by sewing for them.” She watched his face closely, needing to see his reaction to what came next. “That worked for a while—until men started asking for a session with the young one. Finally, Miss Veronica couldn’t ignore the money being offered. Then the time came to earn my keep. So, as gently as they could, they taught me what I needed to know to entertain the customers.”

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CHAPTER 12

“Shit, Jazzy, I’ve heard enough.” Slade stalked across the room and braced his hands along the sides of the window. The sight of his retreating back turned into the picture of him turning away for good. A pain stabbed deep into her heart. He’d become such a big part of her life in such a short time. Suddenly her legs wobbled and she slumped on the mattress, unable to tear her gaze away from his broad back. “I understand.” Her defeated words tasted like dirt in her mouth. Of course, he’d turn away. A natural reaction to something unclean. He looked over a shoulder, eyes narrowed to a dangerous slit. “You understand what?” “Your reaction is natural. I understand my past is a lot to take in.” “My reaction?” With deliberate movements, he turned and leaned a shoulder against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “What do you mean?” 124

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Holding tight rein on her deepening disappointment, she waved a hand in his direction. “Look at you. A few truths about my life and you’re gazing through the closest window, fixin’ on how you’re going to escape.” “Don’t tell me what I’m thinking.” His words rumbled low with warning. “In my business, I’ve had to learn to read people. Everything about your body is screaming ‘let me out.’” “That so?” “Not answering my questions is another part of it.” Gathering her courage, she stepped quickly across the wooden planks and looked up into his frowning face. “How would you act if someday an old customer recognized me and approached us on a street?” He stiffened and his hands drew into fists. “That wouldn’t be a problem.” She cupped his fists and ran her thumb along the hard ridge of his knuckles, relishing the strength in Slade’s hands. “These fists prove you wrong. I’m not sure how you’d react to a meeting like that.” A sigh escaped. “All I wanted was to put the life at Miss Veronica’s behind me and see a bit of the world.” “Don’t forget mountains.” He winked and crooked his lips into a grin. At his words, her heart squeezed tight. She raised a hand to cup the jaw of this dear man who remembered. “But that simple wish isn’t to be.” “Why not?” “I’ll never be rid of that life. You saw right through my ritzy traveling suit and figured out who I truly was.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Darlin’, if I remember that first stage stop correctly, your behavior was anything but shy. That was a good clue.” 125

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The scene flashed in her head as if it had just happened and realization hit her senses. She ducked her head and mumbled, “I just wanted the freedom to choose. To make my own decisions. That’s what I’ve wanted for a really long time.” “But you said you’d had that right all along.” “I didn’t, not really. You’ve shown me the truth.” She laid her hand on his chest and drew power from the coiled strength beneath her fingers. Facing a body’s worst fear drained away the energy right down to her toes. “I was taught that the ladies at Miss Veronica’s were better than the soiled doves in the saloons, the streetwalkers on S. Presa and the crib women lining the back alleys of Durango Street.” She wished she could cuddle up to his chest and stay protected in his arms forever. “But you were right, Slade. I’m only a whore with loose morals and that’s what I’ll always be.” “No!” His hands circled her waist. “You’re more than that.” She shook her head and averted her gaze. “Even that bandit saw who I was. That’s why he singled me out and shuttled me into the back room.” The truth sat like a lump of cold oatmeal in the pit of her stomach. “He knew a sullied woman when he saw one.” Pressure under her chin lifted her head upwards. “That’s not the woman I see. My Jazzy knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. She’s smart and figures a way out of the worst situations. Tearing petticoat strips to leave along the trail led me to you. When faced with tough decisions, you thought of others and worked out the right answer. I’ll bet you figured you could stand up to that bandit’s advances better than the other women.” A flush ran over her skin at his compliments. She’d treasure these words always. “Well, stagecoach rides like we had don’t happen every day. But those women didn’t want much to do with me before the bandits scared them silly.” Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. “Maybe I was a fool to think I could have a normal life.” 126

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“Forget what those ladies thought. Who says what’s normal.” He raised his hands and rested his wrists on her shoulders, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Will I be living a normal life after I turn in my badge?” She sucked in a breath. “You’re not still going to be a marshal?” “This hunt was my last job as a law enforcement officer.” He shook his head, gazing deeply into her eyes. “But I’ll always wear a gun. And I won’t stop looking over my shoulder or scanning every public room I enter for a suspicious action. The worry is real that an angry family member will hunt me down to avenge a brother, nephew, uncle, or cousin—someone they still think innocent of what I arrested them for, despite evidence to the contrary.” Her stomach clenched and she grabbed his forearms. “I hadn’t thought of that. How awful for you.” “I have a past, too.” His gaze bored into hers. “My life as a marshal hasn’t always been played out by the rules. I’m not proud of all of my arrests. Jazzy, I’ve killed men. Men who were only looking to stay alive another day. Because I had a quicker draw or because I knew the lay of the land better, I’m the one who walked away. And I can’t swear all those men were guilty.” He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “Can you live with that?” She inhaled and held it for several seconds, almost afraid to speak her question out loud. “Are you asking me to?” “I’m not much for promises.” His words were slow and thick. “The one thing I know is that I can’t watch you ride out of my life.” A chill ran over her skin at the impact of his words. She shivered. “And I don’t want to. I only want to be with you.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “You’re cold. Let’s get back in bed.” With an arm draped over her shoulders, he guided her across the room. He slid under the blanket and scooted across the mattress. 127

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She could only stare, trying to catch her breath over what she’d heard. Slade had just proclaimed his feelings. “Jazzy.” His voice was stronger as he held open the blanket. The view of his broad chest and taut stomach muscles was irresistible. Her fingers itched to tangle in his dark chest hair. She took the final step, then slipped under the blanket. And her body instantly warmed. She snuggled close and rested her head on his shoulder. “You feel so good.” “And you’re still chilled.” He massaged the length of her upper arm and rubbed a leg over hers. “See what happens when you get riled?” She wanted to tell him when she was good and riled, he’d know. Instead, her breathing deepened into a sigh. “Maybe you’ll grow tired of my rants.” “Maybe.” He brushed his lips over her forehead and kissed her temples. She stilled and held her breath. “But I doubt it.” His words ruffled the hair near her ear, as he ran gentle nibbling kisses along her earlobe. Every place their bodies touched heated in that instant. Jazzy burrowed more tightly against him as the warmth began to chase away all memory of her past. She kissed his neck and inhaled the mixture of scents she would always remember as being Slade’s—leather and fresh air with a touch of bay rum. His skin was salty, his jaw rough with stubbly whiskers. Her arms inched around his neck and she pressed her breasts against his chest, their hardened tips tingling at the contact. Her fingers tunneled into his thick hair and she pulled him closer. Slade’s hand rubbed her shoulders, her back, then cupped her rump and squeezed. He broke off from planting kisses along her jaw to bury his nose in her hair. “Jazzy girl, you feel so good in my hands. You don’t know what I went through when you were shot.” 128

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She kissed a line down his jaw, enjoying the prickle of his beard. “Oh, maybe I do. When I was hauled away by those thugs, my last sight was of you, bloody and beaten, sprawled in the dirt. I didn’t know if you’d live or how badly hurt you were.” Her heart clenched. “I thought I’d never see you again.” “Not see me again?” He eased back and his gaze connected with hers. “But then why did you leave that colorful trail of petticoat scraps?” “I was hopeful, but not sure.” She shrugged. “I’ve been on my own for so long, I’m used to relying on my own wits.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek and kissed her brow, then her temple. “Be sure of this, Jessimay Morgan. You’re not alone. Not anymore and never again.” The whisper of his lips on her face and the impact of his words dissolved the last vestiges of her fears. He did want her the same way she wanted him. Suddenly, too much cloth separated their bodies and she needed to show in her own way that she felt the same. Her hands trailed down his chest and tugged on the buttons at his waist. “Mmm, are you trying to tell me something?” “Shuck your drawers. I want to touch your skin.” A snort of laughter escaped. “The ever forthright woman.” He rolled to his back and raised his hips to slide off his clothes. Jazzy rose to her knees to undress, but couldn’t drag her gaze from the tented blanket over his groin. Suppressing a moan of anticipation, she dropped the chemise straps over each shoulder and wiggled the thin garment down to her waist. “That was nice.” His words were raspy with desire. “Move like that again.” She glanced at him, as her nipples budded in response to his heated gaze. Slowly she lowered her rump to her heels and rested her hands on her knees, plumping her breasts between her arms. “Do you want me to 129

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dance for you?” He breathed in sharply and his gaze narrowed. His face seemed etched in stone. “Don’t say that.” She hesitated, unsure of his change in mood. “What?” “I’m not one of your old customers.” Her past again. “I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand to stroke his rigid arm. “I won’t do it again.” The bed jiggled from his sudden movement. “That’s how I learned about you.” She stilled at his words and her stomach tightened. From the tone of his voice, she knew what he was about to say was important. “I don’t understand.” He angled his chin toward the window and stared at the ceiling. “When I first reached the cabin I saw you trying to keep that bandit from pawing you. The provocative sashay you did was the same as the one you did in the room at Ella’s the night we were together.” She sucked in a breath. “But I had to with the bandit. I was trying to save myself and the others.” He reached out an arm and drew her close. “After a few seconds of shock, I realized that.” “And you stormed through that door anyway…even though you knew then what I was.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I had to get to my Jazzy girl.” Would she ever get tired of hearing the pet name he used? She swallowed against a dry throat and ran a finger through the hair on his chest. Slade rolled on top of her, grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. “Are we done talking? Because there’s a certain part of me”—he growled and rocked his erection against her abdomen—“that needs your special attention.” 130

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In an instant, he’d gone from concerned listener to passionate lover. Her pulse leapt, like her heart and soul recognized Slade was the last man she’d ever know…in a carnal way. Her gaze tangled with his and she shivered. “But I don’t want to do the wrong thing.” “Just do what feels right.” “I’m scared, Slade.” He loosened his grip on her hands and trailed his fingers along the side of her face to cup her cheek. “Tell me why.” A woman could just lap up this man when he turned his dark gaze her way. “I’ve never made, um, I mean, had sex without knowing what the man expected.” Her heart raced at what she’d almost revealed. “What about the night we were together? That was certainly unexpected.” A giggle erupted and she watched a grin spread on his lips in response. “Well, I was doing anything and everything to keep you from finding my stash of coins.” She shrugged and her gaze focused on his chin. “And I was using all my routines.” “Routines?” He pulled away, brows raised. “You know, figuring out what a customer wanted. One fella gets buck naked and likes lots of hand motion, another comes at me with only his fly unbuttoned, and another—” “Jazzy!” Slade rolled to his back and laid an arm across his eyes. “I get the picture.” “Don’t get high-falutin’ on me. You came to my room looking for the bank money.” She leaned on an elbow and poked him square in the chest. “You thought I was a bank robber, yet you jumped into bed with me.” “Guilty as charged.” He reached out a hand and caressed a voluptuous, bare breast. “You were irresistible, no matter which side of the law I thought you are on.” 131

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For a moment, she closed her eyes and savored the roughness of his callused thumb in the valley between her breasts. Then her eyes popped open. “Are?” A grin slid along his lips and he winked. “I meant to say were.” He leaned close, his gaze intent on her lips. Out of habit, she turned her head and offered her cheek, her hands twisted in the bed sheets. “Look at me, Jazzy.” His raspy words drew her attention and she connected with his lusty stare. “No games and no playacting. Right now, this is you and me in this bed—Jazzy and Slade.” His gaze caressed her lips. “I’m going to kiss you…on the mouth. Next, I’m going to taste your lips. Then I’m going to open your mouth and taste your tongue.” Oh, my stars! Just listening to him made her nipples bead and an ache throb between her thighs. She shivered. “Relax.” He lowered his head and briefly brushed his lips across hers. His actions were gentle and the sensation on her mouth was as soft as a rose petal. The ladies were right—letting a man kiss your lips gave away a bit of your heart. But it warmed her from the inside out like hot cocoa on a winter morning. As her resistance relaxed, so did her fingers on the fabric. He skimmed his fingers along her neck and kissed her again and again, lingering longer with each contact. The sensation was as heady as fancy French champagne. Jazzy pressed against his lips and was rewarded with a groan from Slade. After a moment of hesitation, she raised a hand to twine her fingers into the hair at his neck. The luxury of touching him for her pleasure was new. She enjoyed it totally. This time, when his lips captured hers, she almost forgot to breath. 132

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He nibbled, he ran his tongue along her teeth, then delved inside the warmth of her mouth. She’d only kissed two boys in her life and neither had kissed the way Slade did. His kisses heated her blood and made her lightheaded. She couldn’t think, she could only react—and that doubled her excitement. Slade broke away from her mouth and touched his lips along her jaw. “Touch me, Jazzy. I like the feel of your hands on me.” The familiarity of those words hit her hard. She stilled, then trailed her hand down his chest, slowing to caress his stomach and then stroked down toward his cock. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, covering it with his much larger one. “I like your hands other places, too. That comes later.” A man who took his time…a man who enjoyed kissing…a man willing to delay his own pleasure. The muscles under her hand were firm and warm, part of a solid, reliable man. But she was looking for adventure and a new life. Although, there was certainly something to be said for dependable. “You’re thinking too hard. Kiss me, Jazzy.” She slid her hand up to his bristly jaw and anchored his face. Her mouth clamped on his and she sucked and nipped at his lips, surprised at the vigor of his response. Slade slipped his arm under her neck and cradled the back of her head as he returned her kisses. His other hand molded her breast, inching closer to the center, until he rolled the nipple between two fingers. With a gasp, she arched into his hand, wanting to increase the delicious friction any way she could. This was a feeling new in her experience and one she wanted to savor. Slade rocked his hips and his cock rubbed a hot path along her thigh. 133

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Looked like savoring wasn’t in his plan. Jazzy kissed his neck and inhaled his musky scent deeply. Her fingers smoothed a circle on his chest, hesitating at the nub buried in his crisp hairs. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Oh, yeah.” She pushed off the bed enough to scrape her nipples across his chest and belly. Instantly, sensations shot right to her pussy lips. A twinge shot through her side and she winced, pressing a hand over the bandage. “We need to move slow.” “I’ll be gentle. I thought I could wait, but, honey, I need you now.” His hand covered hers and he rolled her to her back, pressing his penis against her hip. A groan rumbled in his chest. “You remember that move you did with your hand…” Her hand slipped between them and she rubbed the length of her finger between his balls while her thumb pressed against the base of his cock. Her fingernails lightly scraped his balls and she smiled when the tempo of his flexing increased. She pressed her lips to his chest, flicking her tongue over the tight bud of his nipple. “That feels great, but I can’t see your face.” He shoved the pillows against the headboard and scooted up until he reclined against them. “Sit on my lap.” She eyed his impressive erection and felt moisture readying her pussy for his invasion. With a wide smile of anticipation, she gladly straddled him, welcoming the pressure of his cock at her wet slit. His hands claimed her hips and eased her down, rising in a smooth movement to meet her. With long slow moves, he plunged deeper with each stroke. Resting her hands on her thighs, she rode him, holding him tight when he was deep inside and loosening when his tip teased her entrance. She watched the tension grow in his face and felt the stiffening of his thighs under her bottom. He didn’t have long now. A feather touch of his thumb on her bud startled her. Two circles 134

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around the sensitive button and sparks lit up her insides. Her gyrations in his lap increased and she grabbed onto his shoulders for support. Hair tumbled around her shoulders and dangled along his skin. He grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged. “Come here. I need to taste you.” Slade captured her mouth and plunged his tongue inside in rhythm with their strokes. His thumb pressed harder against her clitoris. Deep in her throat, she moaned, unable to keep quiet about the pleasure coursing through her body. This man’s kisses sent her blood pumping. Heat flashed over her skin and the tight control she held on her body’s reactions broke. Waves of release rolled through her and she sagged against Slade’s chest. He grabbed her buttocks and rocked her hips back and forth, increasing the friction against his cock. For several more strokes, he strained upwards, and his fingers tightened. “Awww.” Deep within, she felt her insides bathed in his hot seed. A sense of peace enveloped her and she wanted to stay here in this ramshackle cabin forever. No one could hurt them and they had each other. Slade exhaled and whispered, “My Jazzy girl,” before dropping his hands and falling back against the mattress. “That was better than peach pie. And peaches are my favorite.” She traced circles on his shoulder with the ends of her hair. He liked pies? Something new she’d learned about him, not that it really mattered. “There’s something else I have to tell you.” She sighed. “More talking?” He groaned. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen.” He rolled his head to the side and winked. “I can cook some. You’ll learn.” “What will we do?” “We’ll get by.” “I don’t want to just get by. I’m looking for a new life.” He nuzzled her neck and whispered, “I’ve got some ranch land and 135

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a few horses. I just happen to know a lady looking to invest her life savings, and we could make it a real business together.” She gasped and her heart raced. He was talking about a future. A real home she could spruce up anyway she pleased. A normal life and… She stilled. Weren’t all ranches big, flat pieces of land, like the farm her daddy used to work? She might have to give up her mountains. With a twist, she leaned on her shoulder and laid her hand on his bare chest. “Tell me where your land is.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip before he answered, “About an hour’s ride from Denver.” He connected with her gaze and grinned. “Deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.” She’d have it all. A new life, mountains and Slade.

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LAYLA CHASE

Layla Chase writes contemporary stories as well as historicals and is published in short romantic fiction. Years spent in the business world prompted her to seek out her more creative side. There, she discovered all sorts of characters whose stories she needed to share. A native of California, she now lives in Texas with her husband and the youngest of her three children.

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